Poems (Greenwell)/A Meditation
A MEDITATION."I believe in the Communion of Saints."
The World doth love its own, Doth praise its own, doth keep their memories young; Where warrior once hath bled, where poet sung, Time's dust may never gather,—hill and stream Catch up heroic echoes, and the lone Vaucluse still murmurs of the music thrown Around it by one fervid Lover's dream.
The World doth love its own, But unto you that loved it, hath it proved It was not worthy of ye! little loved Or loved amiss, how hard hath been your lot!Followed with worship that ye had disclaimed And warned each suppliant, "See thou do it not," Or like to cherished friends that on its throne The heart hath lifted, till too rudely blamed For overprizing, it hath grown ashamed, And taken from them that which was their own, So are ye little treasured, coldly named, Remembered with vain honours, or forgot!
And ours hath been the loss: Our silence grieves you not, our erring praise Perchance doth never reach you where you raise Your fuller, sweeter song to Him whose brow Doth wear the Many Crowns upon it, "Thou Art only worthy, Thou who art our Praise." Yes! ours hath been the loss. For ye are ours! the lives ye held not dear Were given for us! strong champions of the Cross Who went before us in God's faith and fear,Your blood makes rich our heritage; no tear Of yours but lies upon it still like dew, No word of yours but yet hath power to cheer— Ye have not need of us, but we of you!
And oh, Beloved ones, my lips are fain To speak of you! this heart of mine so long Hath communed with you, they may not refrain To pay you honour in a guileless song; I will not fear to do the Master wrong In praising you, His servants, whom, unseen, I love in Him. As oft a stranger's mien Grows sudden dear through summoning the face Of friend beloved, so have I joyed to trace Your features back to His, and in the tone Ye use, a sweeter voice hath still been known; Nor read I blame within their ardent eyes, Our elder, stronger Brethren of the skies, That unto me their names, their effigies Have been less dear than yours, who did not move About your work with them[1] whose feet of flame Upon their Master's errand went and came As in the lightning flash; with footsteps slow And wearied oft, kind ministers! Ye went About this lower House of His, intent On humblest household tasks, and for the sake Of this great family, with care opprest. That it might fare the sweeter ye did wake Betimes, and watch that it might safer rest. Ye wore not then the Halo on your brow,[2] But bound on rugged paths where once of old Your Master toiled, where toil your brethren now, Ye had not Angels for your mates, but cold Dull hearts were round you, that within your own Ye warmed, till oft their chillness deadly grown Hath made your hands, hath made your bosoms ache! For oft, methinks, true Lovers! loved the less For more abundant loving, bitterness Was wrung within your cup while ye did strain Thereout your balms of healing; yea, the Vine Was bruised within your souls to make them wine That trampled down its tendrils! yet this pain Ye took in meekness, nor of outward foe Made much account that knew a subtler foe, A sorer strife, a plague-spot lying bare To one loved eye, and fain ye would be fair To meet that only eye;—so, faint yet still Pursuing, oft ye look unto the hill From thence expecting aid, and not in vain. Now have ye reached the Mount of God! no stain Lies on your robes, and all your faces shine As shone they never here, while yet in frail Coarse vessels all your heaven-won treasure lay. While oft the light within would pale and pine Because the lamp that bore it was of clay—Now, far behind the shrouding veil, your way Leads on from grace to grace, and yet you say
"Here it is good to be:" of this your state We know not now, but this still doth appear; Though none have left the chambers where ye wait To tell us if their light be dark or clear, And he who looked upon you there, the Seer Beloved, hath spoken little, if ye wake—Or sleeping, where you take your solemn rest—Yet hath a voice from Heaven proclaimed you surely blest!
And if ye wake or sleep. Or wrapt yet conscious in a Calm between That stealeth not on Earth, ye lie serene,Doth matter little—solemn, sweet and deep Must be your rest with Him whose eyelids keep Their watch above, for He can bless in sleep His own beloved ones;
But is there prayer Within your quiet Homes, and is there care For those ye leave behind? I would address My spirit to this theme in humbleness: No tongue nor pen hath uttered or made known This mystery, and thus I do but guess At clearer types through lowlier patterns shown;—Yet when did Love on earth forsake its own?[3] Ye may not quit your sweetness, in the Vine More firmly rooted than of old, your wine Hath freer flow! ye have not changed, but grown To fuller stature; though the shock was keen That severed you from us, how oft below, Hath sorest parting smitten but to show True hearts their hidden wealth that quickly grow The closer for that anguish,—friend to friend Revealed more clear,—and what is Death to rend The ties of life and love, when He must fade In light of very Life, when He must bend To Love, that loving, loveth to the end?
I do not deem ye look Upon us now, for be it that your eyes Are sealed or clear, a burden on them lies Too deep and blissful for their gaze to brook Our troubled strife; enough that once ye dwelt Where now we dwell, enough that once ye felt As now we feel, to bid you recognise Our claim of kindred cherished though unseen; And Love that is to you for eye and ear Hath ways unknown to us to bring you near,—To keep you near for all that comes between; As pious souls that move in sleep to prayer, As distant friends, that see not, and yet share (I speak of what I know) each other's care, So may your spirits blend with ours! above Ye know nut haply of our state, yet Love Acquaints you with our need, and through a way More sure than that of knowledge—so ye pray!
And even thus we meet, And even thus we commune! spirits freed And spirits fettered mingle, nor have need To seek a common atmosphere, the air Is meet for either in this olden, sweet, Primeval breathing of Man's spirit—Prayer!
And now your prayers are free, Not hindered oft, as in this field below By One himself unblest, that envieth so The bonds of Brotherhood he may not know. He joys to fling a seed of enmity 'Twixt very friends;—with anxious hearts, with hands That rested not, ye wrought in scattered bands Apart; intent upon your work, a word Would reach you from the distance, faintly heard, That moved to anger; yet the speech that vexed The sorest, often was but Love perplext To find one common tongue; but now the sun Hath fallen on you, all your task is done; Ye sit within the House with One whose kind Prevailing counsels bring unto one mind Its inmates, making Brethren to agree,And oft ye marvel that ye did not find Each other sooner, soul in soul doth see One kindred image shine, no longer dim Through contact of its gold with baser clay— The fruit is ripe, its husks have dropt away,And ye are only what ye were in Him!
Oh! Virgin Lilies rayed With light and loveliness, that did declare His perfect beauty here, that grew so fair By only gazing on Him! from the shade Where God hath planted me I have essayed To reach unto your sunshine! though you keep Your silence even from good words, I miss No sign of greeting, nor have need of kiss For sealing of our love, for this is clear That ye are near me when I draw most near To Him in Whom we meet: I see you shine In Christ, as once I marked above a shrine By midnight clear, yet moonless, pictured fair A Virgin Mother in a lowly place Bend o'er a sleeping infant; full of grace His brow and lip; with gifts and odours rare Came Kings adoring, lowly Shepherds there Rejoicing knelt, and all the canvas dim Was crowded up behind with Seraphim In goodly ranks; yet Mother-maid serene,Sage, Seraph, lowly Shepherd, all were seen By Light that streamed from out the Babe divine!