English

Thou who the Face Divine wouldst see,
Think, — couldst thou bear the sight, and be?
O waves of life and thought and dream,
Darkening in one mysterious Stream,
Flow on, flow loudly; nor become
A glassy Mirror sad and dumb,
Whereon for evermore might shine
The dread peace of the Face Divine! —
Children of earth whose spirits fail,
Beware the Lifting of the Veil!

I.

O RM'S Vision .

M Y Soul had a vision,
And in my Soul's vision

Songs of Seeking, day by day
Sung while wearying on the way, —
Feeble cries of one who knows
Nor whence he comes, nor whither goes,
Yet of his own free will doth wear
The bloody Cross of those who fare
Upward and on in sad accord, —
The footsore Seekers of the Lord.

I.

O thou whose ears incline unto my singing,
Woman or man, thou surely bearest thy burden,
And I who sing, and all men, bear their burdens.

Even as a meteor-stone from suns afar,
I fell unto the ways of life and breathed,

A House miraculous of breath
The royal Soul inhabiteth.
Alone therein for evermore,
It seeks in vain to pass the door;
But through the windows of the eyne
Signalleth to its kin divine. ...
This is a song Orm sang of old
To Oona with the locks of gold.

Come to me! clasp me!
Spirit to spirit!
Bosom to bosom!
Tenderly, clingingly,
Mingle to one! ...

Now, from my kisses
Withdrawing, and blushing,
Why dost thou gaze on me?

Songs of Corruption, woven thus,
With tender thoughts and tremulous,
Sitting with a solemn face
In an island burying-place,
While weary waves broke sad and slow
O'er weedy wastes of sand below,
And stretch'd on every side of me
The rainy grief of the gray Sea.

I.

Phantasy .

I F thou art an Angel,
Who hath seen thee,

On the high path where few men fare,
Orm meeteth one with hoary hair,
And speaketh, solemn and afraid.
Of that which haunteth him — a Shade.
Slowly, with weary feet and weak,
They wander to a mountain peak;
And to the man with hoary hair
A Bridge of Spirits riseth fair,
Whereon his Soul with gentle moan
Passeth unto the Land Unknown.

I.

THE SHADOW .

O aged Man who, clad in pilgrim's garb,
With staff of thorn and wallet lying near,
Sittest among the weeds of the wayside,

How God in the beginning drew
Over his face the Veil of blue,
Wherefore no soul of mortal race
Hath ever look'd upon the Face;
Children of earth whose spirits fail
Heark to the First Song of the Veil.

I.

THE VEIL WOVEN .

In the beginning,
Ere Man grew,
The Veil was woven
Bright and blue;
Soft mists and vapours
Gather'd and mingled
Over the black world
Stretched below,
While winds of heaven
Blew from all places,
Shining luminous,
A starry snow.
Blindly, dumbly,

( TO BOOK OF ORM AND POLITICAL MYSTICS .)

When in these songs I name the Name of God,
I mean not Him who ruled with brazen rod
The rulers of the Jew; nor Him who calm
Sat reigning on Olympus; nay, nor Brahm,
Osiris, Allah, Odin, Balder, Thor,
(Though these I honour, with a hundred more);
Menu I mean not, nor the Man Divine,
The pallid Rainbow lighting Palestine;
Nor any lesser of the gods which Man
Hath conjured out of Night since Time began.
I mean the primal Mystery and Light,
The most Unfathomable, Infinite,

TO F. W. C

Flowers pluckt upon a grave by moonlight, pale
And suffering, from the spiritual light
They grew in: these, with all the love and blessing.
That prayers can gain of God, I send to thee!

Lord , with how small a thing
Thou canst prop up the heart against the grave!
A little glimmering
Is all we crave!
The lustre of a love
That hath no being,

Then, with strange trouble in her eyes, Meg Blane
Stole swiftly back unto her hut again,
Like one that flyeth from some fearful thing;
Then sat and made a darkness, covering
Her face with apron old, thinking apart;
And yet she scarce could think, for ache of heart,
But saw dead women and dead men go by,
And felt the wind, and heard the waters cry,
And on the waters, as they washed to shore,
Saw one Face float alone and glimmer hoar
Through the green darkness of the breaking brine.