Poems (Greenwell)/The Reconciler
PART SECOND.
"Thoughts too deep to he expressed, Yet too strong to be suppressed."—George Wither.
THE RECONCILER.
"And I wept much, because no man was found worthy to open and to read the book, neither to look thereon. And one of the elders saith unto me, 'Weep not; behold, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, hath prevailed to open the book.'"
The Revelation of St. John.
All things are reconciled In Thee, O Lord! all fierce extremes that beat Along Time's shore, like chidden waves grown mild. Have crept to kiss Thy feet!
For there is no more sea Within Thy kingdom; so within Thy reign Are no more tides that murmur and complain, Like ancient foes that seem through some dark law Their life from out each other's hate to draw; So Light and Darkness, Good and Evil, set Against the other's being, strive, and yet Contending mix, while caught and driven by winds So keen and restless in their rage, the Will, Drawn hither, thither, trembles, till it finds Its centre, and is still.
Then nothing is displaced, Thou drawest all things to an Order fair; The things we treasure most with those our haste Doth count for nought, alike in Thee are gracedWith beauty past compare.
For all grows sweet in Thee, Since Thou didst gather us in One, and bring This fading flower of our humanity To perfect blossoming.
All comes to bloom! this wild Green outward World of ours, that still must wear The furrow on its brow, by print of care And toil struck deep; this world by Sin made sad. Hath felt Thy foot upon its sod, and smiled,—The desert place is glad!
Thou madest all things glad As they were good. When first Thy sunbeam flew Abroad, it lit on nothing that was sad; So now is all made new That meets in Thee! Thou takest—for thy birth Is of the Morning's womb, and so the dew Lies ever on it—of the things that Earth Hath left for waste, their freshness to renew. Him most of all, the Chief Of things thy hands have fashioned, sorest curst Yet holding still the First-born's Birthright; first In grandeur and in grief
Of old perplexed he stood And questioned much with things that did appear Of things that were, and for the unseen Good He sought 'mid present shows, but neither ear Was there, nor voice to give an answer clear; So listening oft, O Thou, Desired of all. To hear afar Thy coming footsteps fall, Thy shadow on the murky atmosphere Grew gross and palpable, and soon his sense Discerjied not well if foe or friend were near; While whirling, ringing still from sphere to sphere Of widening thought, went up his bitter cry Of "whence" and "why," and evermore this whence And why did clash together for reply.
Until for aye to quell This battle, that had grown for him too sore To bring his foes to silence, and compel His doubtful friends to weary him no more. With changeful aspects and with frequent strife. Thou camest suddenly:
Thou camest suddenly:And first with Life Thou madest friends for us; our lives in Thine Grow kind and gracious, Lord! when Thou didst make Thy soul an offering for sin. Thy love Was even unto Death; yea, far above, For Thou didst suffer Life for us![1] to take More hard than to resign.
And since this garment old And fretted by the moth Thy love hath borne Upon Thee, all that wear it in its fold With Thee enwrapt and gathered, have grown bold, To Thee and to each other closer drawn; Pale grows our purple pride Beside this vesture dyed In Kingly blood; before our common name We feel our titles but a gorgeous shame,That doth betray, not clothe, our nakedness; But Heaven and Earth have been More near, since Earth hath seen Its God walk Earth as Man; since Heaven hath shown A Man upon its throne; The street and market-place Grow holy ground; each face— Pale faces, marked with care, Dark, toil-worn brows—grows fair; King's children are these all; though want and sin Have marred their beauty glorious within,We may not pass them but with reverent eye; As when we see some goodly temple graced To be Thy dwelling, ruined and defaced, The haunt of sad and doleful creatures, lie Bare to the sky, and open to the gust, It grieveth us to see This House laid waste,— It pitieth us to see it in the dust!
Our dreams are reconciled, Since Thou didst come to turn them all to Truth: The World, the Heart are dreamers in their youth Of visions beautiful, and strange and wild; And Thou, our Life's Interpreter dost still At once make clear these visions and fulfil; Each dim sweet Orphic rhyme, Each Mythic tale sublime Of strength to save, of sweetness to subdue, Each morning dream the few, Wisdom's first Lovers told, in stately speech, Within the porch, or underneath the beech, If read in Thee comes true; And these did mock the other, saying, "See These dreamers," but in Thee Their speech is plain, their witnesses agree; So doth Earth mock the hearts' fond Faiths and rend Our idols from our failing grasp, and fling Dust, dust upon our altar-shrines, yet bring No worship in their place, but Thou, O Friend From heaven, that madest this our heart Thine own. Dost pierce the broken language of its moan—Thou dost not scorn our needs, but satisfy! Each yearning deep and wide, Each claim is justified; Our young illusions fail not though they die Within the brightness of Thy Rising, kissed To happy death, like early clouds that lie About the gates of Dawn—a golden mist Paling to blissful white, through rose and amethyst.
The World that puts Thee by, That opens not to greet Thee with Thy train, That sendeth after Thee the sullen cry, "We will not have Thee over us to reign;"Itself doth testify through searchings vain Of Thee and of its need, and for the good It will not, of some base similitudeTakes up a taunting witness, till its mood,Grown fierce o'er failing hopes, doth rend and tear Its own illusions grown too thin and bare To wrap it longer; for within the gate Where all must pass, a veiled and hooded Fate, A dark Chimera, coiled and tangled lies. And he who answers not its questions dies,—Still changing form and speech, but with the same Vexed riddles, Gordian-twisted, bringing shame Upon the nations that with eager cry Hail each new solver of the mystery; Yet he, of these the best, Bold guesser, hath but prest Most nigh to Thee, our noisy plaudits wrong; True Champion, that hast wrought Our help of old, and brought Meat from this eater, sweetness from this strong.
Oh, Bearer of the key That shuts and opens with a sound so sweet Its turning in the wards is melody—All things we move among are incomplete And vain until we fashion them in Thee! We labour in the fire, Thick smoke is round about us, through the dinOf words that darken counsel, clamours dire Ring from thought's beaten anvil, where within Two Giants toil, that even from their birth With travail-pangs have torn their mother Earth, And wearied out her children with their keen Upbraidings of the other, till between Thou camest, saying, "Wherefore do ye wrong Each other?—ye are Brethren." Then these twain Will own their kindred, and in Thee retain Their claims in peace, because Thy land is wide As it is goodly! here they pasture free, This lion and this leopard, side by side, A little child doth lead them with a song; Now, Ephraim's envy ceaseth, and no more Doth Judah anger Ephraim chiding sore,For one did ask a Brother, one a King, So dost Thou gather them in one, and bring—Thou, King for evermore, for ever Priest, Thou, Brother of our own from bonds released— A Law of Liberty, A Service making free, A Commonweal where each has all in Thee.
And not alone these wide, Deep-planted yearnings, seeking with a cry Their meat from God, in Thee are satisfied But all our instincts waking suddenly Within the soul, like infants from their sleep That stretch their arms into the dark and weep, Thy voice can still. The stricken heart bereft Of all its brood of singing hopes, and left 'Mid leafless boughs a cold forsaken nest With snow-flakes in it, folded in thy breast Doth lose its deadly chill; and grief that creeps Unto thy side for shelter, finding there The wound's deep cleft, forgets its moan and weeps Calm quiet tears, and on thy forehead Care Hath looked until its thorns, no longer bare,Put forth pale roses. Pain on thee doth press Its quivering cheek, and all the weariness, The want that keep their silence, till from Thee They hear the gracious summons, none beside Hath spoken to the world-worn, "Come to me," Tell forth their heavy secrets.
Thou dost hide These in thy bosom, and not these alone, But all our heart's fond treasure that had grown A burden else: oh. Saviour, tears were weighed To Thee in plenteous measure! none hath shown That Thou didst smile! yet hast Thou surely made All joy of ours Thine own;
Thou madest us for Thine; We seek amiss, we wander to and fro; Yet are we ever on the track Divine; The soul confesseth Thee, but sense is slow To lean on aught but that which it may see: So hath it crowded up these Courts below With dark and broken images of Thee; Lead Thou us forth upon Thy Mount, and show Thy goodly patterns, whence these things of old By Thee were fashioned; Cue though manifold Glass Thou thy perfect likeness in the soul, Show us Thy countenance, and we are whole!