Classic Poem

O Heart of God in which all pulses beat,
Where all things highest, purest, holiest, meet;
That ocean of unfathomable love
O'er which for ever moves the mystic Dove;
What was there in the heart of Jesse's son
Which, tuned and temper'd by the touch Divine,
Was found in such mysterious unison,
O Heart of hearts, with Thine?

Was it that courage, which had dared to brave
The lion and the bear, a lamb to save;
And in the simple panoply of faith
Had slain Goliath in his pride and wrath?
Which scorning scorn, and proud of generous scars,
Was ever first where danger threaten'd most,
The trusted leader in a hundred wars,
The captain of God's host?

Was it that royalty, innate, inbred,
Which crowned with grace a shepherd stripling's head,
And clothed him with a strange imperial power
Before which weaker spirits learned to cower?
That kingly presence, that majestic form,
That generous hand, that keen far-reaching eye
Which guided Israel through those years of storm
To peace and victory?

Or was it that inimitable skill
Of minstrelsy and music which at will
Laid bare the passions of the human breast,
Unresting till they find in God their rest,
So true, so tender, that his simplest chords
Have lived through all the ages vibrating
And moving countless listeners in his words
With him to weep or sing?

O Heart of God, all courage is of Thee;
Thou art the fountain-head of royalty;
And all of song or music here below
Must from the Harmony of Godhead flow.
But was there not a deeper closer bond
Which knit the heart of David to Thine own,
A something which made heart to heart respond
To Thee and Thine alone?

Oh, read we not the answer in Thy Name,
To-day, for ever, yesterday the same,
That name transparent in Thy courts above,
Here traced in many fragments, “God is love.”
For surely of the countless bosoms form'd
By Thee Thyself to image and adore,
None with a purer fire of love was warm'd
Than David's heart of yore.

Thou wast the Shepherd of his boyish days,
When Bethlehem heard his earliest sweetest lays;
The Guardian of his youth; his manhood's strength;
The sunshine of his age; and when at length,
He rested after many a weary fight
This was the burden of the conqueror's word,
“O Lord, my Rock, my fortress, and my might,
I will love Thee, O Lord.”

And from this spring the Son of Jesse drew
All other friendships fresh as morning dew:
His soul to Jonathan his brother clave
As only brave men love the good and brave;
And all that noble princely brotherhood
Of warriors, trained in hardships, perils, snares,
Were knit more closely than by birth or blood
To one whose heart was theirs.

A hero's life:—alas, we weep abash'd
For one foul page by lust and murder dash'd;
Yet, lifted once for truth's sake, let the veil
Of shame and anguish bide the hideous tale;
And in that broken-hearted monarch's psalm,
Breathed in the pitying pardoning ear of heaven,
Learn contrite grief is keenest when most calm,
Most deep when most forgiven.

Love, love,—the love of God, the love of man,—
Is this the measure in life's little span
Of saintliest saints, those nearest likest Him
Encircled with the burning Seraphim?
Oh, take this narrow shatter'd heart of mine,
Do with it what Thou wilt, but quit it never
Until it beats in perfect tune with Thine,
O Heart of hearts, for ever.