THE SUCCESSFUL SEARCHERS b. THE UNSUCCESSFUL SEARCHERS
C. THE SEARCH IS ITS OWN REWARD
a. THE SUCCESSFUL SEARCHERS
O God, where does this tend-these struggling aims?
What would I have? What is this 'sleep' which seems
To bound all? Can there be a 'waking' point
Of crowning life? The soul would never rule-
It would be first in all things-it would have
Its utmost pleasure filled, but that complete
Commanding for commanding sickens it.
The last point I can trace is, rest beneath
Some better essence than itself-in weakness;
This is 'myself'-not what I think I should be,
But what is that I hunger for but God?
My God, my God! Let me for once look on thee
As though naught else existed: we alone,
And as creation rumbles, my soul's spark
Expands till I can say, 'Even from myself
I need thee, and I feel thee, and I love thee;
I do not plead my rapture in thy works
For love of thee-or that I feel as one
Who cannot die-but there is that in me
Which turns to thee, which loves, or which should love.'
Why have I girt myself with this hell-dress?
Why have I laboured to put out my life?
Is it not in my nature to adore,
And e'en for all my reason do I not
Feel him, and thank him, and pray to him—now?
Can I forgo the trust that he loves me?
Do I not feel a love which only ONE.
O thou pale form, so dimly seen, deep-eyed,
I have denied thee calmly-do I not
Pant when I read of thy consummate deeds,
And burn to see thy calm pure truths out-flash
The brightest gleams of earth's philosophy?
Do I not shake to hear aught question thee?
If I am erring save me, madden me,
Take from me powers and pleasures,—let me die.
Ages, so I see thee: I am knit round
As with a charm, by sin and lust and pride,
Yet though my wandering dreams have seen all shapes
Of strange delight, oft have I stood by thee-
Have I been keeping lonely watch with thee
In the damp night by weeping Olivet,
Or leaning on thy bosom, proudly less,—
Or dying with thee on the lonely cross-
Or witnessing thy bursting from the tomb!
The law of life, man is not Man as yet.
Nor shall I deem his object served, his end
Attained, his genuine strength put fairly forth,
While only here and there a star dispels
The darkness, here and there a towering mind
O'erlooks its prostrate fellows: when the host
Is out at once to the despair of night,
When all mankind alike is perfected,
Equal in full-blown powers-then, not till then,
I say, begins man's general infancy.
For wherefore make account of feverish starts
Of restless members of a dominant whole,
Impatient nerves which quiver while the body
Slumbers as in the grave? Oh, long ago
The brow was twitched, the tremulous lids astir,
The peaceful mouth disturbed; half uttered speech
Ruffled the lip, and then the teeth were set,
The breath drawn sharp, the strong right hand clenched
As it would pluck a lion by the jaw;
The glorious creature laughed out, even in sleep!
But when full roused, each giant-limb awake,
Each sinew strung, the great heart pulsing fast,
He shall start up and stand on his own earth,
Then shall his long triumphant march begin,
Thence shall his being date-thus wholly roused,
What he achieves shall be set down to him.
When all the race is perfected alike
As man, that is; all tended to mankind,
And, man produced, all has its end thus far;
But in completed man begins anew
A tendency to God. Prognostics told
Man's near approach; so in man's self arise
August anticipations, symbols, types
Of a dim splendor ever on before
In that eternal circle life pursues.
For men begin to pass their nature's bound,
And find new hopes and cares which fast supplant
Their proper joys and griefs; they grow too great
For narrow creeds of right and wrong, which fade
Before the unmeasured thirst for good; while peace
Rises within them ever more and more.
Such men are even now upon the earth,
Serene amid the half-formed creatures round
Who should be saved by them and joined with them.
A PSALM OF THE EARLY BUDDHIST SISTERS
Now here, now there, lightheaded, crazed with grief,
Mourning my child, I wandered up and down,
Naked, unheeding, streaming hair unkempt,
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