Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/452

420   But wherefore this dream of the earthly abode Of Humanity clothed in the brightness of God? Were my spirit but turned from the outward and dim, It could gaze, even now, on the presence of Him!

Not in clouds and in terrors, but gentle as when, In love and in meekness, He moved among men; And the voice which breathed peace to the waves of the sea In the hush of my spirit would whisper to me!

And what if my feet may not tread where He stood, Nor my ears hear the dashing of Galilee’s flood, Nor my eyes see the cross which He bowed Him to bear, Nor my knees press Gethsemane’s garden of prayer.

Yet, Loved of the Father, Thy Spirit is near To the meek, and the lowly, and penitent here; And the voice of Thy love is the same even now As at Bethany’s tomb or on Olivet’s brow.

Oh, the outward hath gone! but in glory and power, The spirit surviveth the things of an hour; Unchanged, undecaying, its Pentecost flame On the heart’s secret altar is burning the same!

Oh, who the speed of bird and wind
 * And sunbeam’s glance will lend to me,

That, soaring upward, I may find
 * My resting-place and home in Thee?

Thou, whom my soul, midst doubt and gloom,
 * Adoreth with a fervent flame,—

Mysterious spirit! unto whom
 * Pertain nor sign nor name!

Swiftly my lyre’s soft murmurs go
 * Up from the cold and joyless earth,

Back to the God who bade them flow,
 * Whose moving spirit sent them forth.

But as for me, O God! for me,
 * The lowly creature of Thy will,

Lingering and sad, I sigh to Thee,
 * An earth-bound pilgrim still!

Was not my spirit born to shine
 * Where yonder stars and suns are glowing?

To breathe with them the light divine
 * From God’s own holy altar flowing?

To be, indeed, whate’er the soul
 * In dreams hath thirsted for so long,—

A portion of heaven’s glorious whole
 * Of loveliness and song?

Oh, watchers of the stars at night,
 * Who breathe their fire, as we the air,—

Suns, thunders, stars, and rays of light,
 * Oh, say, is He, the Eternal, there?

Bend there around His awful throne
 * The seraph’s glance, the angel’s knee?

Or are thy inmost depths His own,
 * O wild and mighty sea?

Thoughts of my soul, how swift ye go!
 * Swift as the eagle’s glance of fire,

Or arrows from the archer’s bow,
 * To the far aim of your desire!

Thought after thought, ye thronging rise,
 * Like spring-doves from the startled wood,

Bearing like them your sacrifice
 * Of music unto God!

And shall these thoughts of joy and love
 * Come back again no more to me?

Returning like the patriarch’s dove
 * Wing-weary from the eternal sea,

To bear within my longing arms
 * The promise-bough of kindlier skies,

Plucked from the green, immortal palms
 * Which shadow Paradise?