Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/479

Rh With deepening agony of quest The old entreaty: ‘Art thou He, Or look we for the Christ to be?’

“God should be most where man is least: So, where is neither church nor priest, And never rag of form or creed To clothe the nakedness of need,— Where farmer-folk in silence meet,— I turn my bell-unsummoned feet; I lay the critic’s glass aside, I tread upon my lettered pride, And, lowest-seated, testify To the oneness of humanity; Confess the universal want, And share whatever Heaven may grant. He findeth not who seeks his own, The soul is lost that ’s saved alone. Not on one favored forehead fell Of old the fire-tongued miracle, But flamed o’er all the thronging host The baptism of the Holy Ghost; Heart answers heart: in one desire The blending lines of prayer aspire; ‘Where, in my name, meet two or three,’ Our Lord hath said, ‘I there will be!’

“So sometimes comes to soul and sense The feeling which is evidence That very near about us lies The realm of spiritual mysteries. The sphere of the supernal powers Impinges on this world of ours. The low and dark horizon lifts, To light the scenic terror shifts; The breath of a diviner air Blows down the answer of a prayer: That all our sorrow, pain, and doubt A great compassion clasps about, And law and goodness, love and force, Are wedded fast beyond divorce. Then duty leaves to love its task, The beggar Self forgets to ask; With smile of trust and folded hands, The passive soul in waiting stands To feel, as flowers the sun and dew, The One true Life its own renew.

“So to the calmly gathered thought The innermost of truth is taught, The mystery dimly understood, That love of God is love of good, And, chiefly, its divinest trace In Him of Nazareth’s holy face; That to be saved is only this,— Salvation from our selfishness, From more than elemental fire, The soul’s unsanctified desire, From sin itself, and not the pain That warns us of its chafing chain; That worship’s deeper meaning lies In mercy, and not sacrifice, Not proud humilities of sense And posturing of penitence, But love’s unforced obedience; That Book and Church and Day are given For man, not God,—for earth, not heaven,— The blessed means to holiest ends, Not masters, but benignant friends; That the dear Christ dwells not afar, The king of some remoter star, Listening, at times, with flattered ear To homage wrung from selfish fear, But here, amidst the poor and blind, The bound and suffering of our kind, In works we do, in prayers we pray, Life of our life, He lives to-day.”

but dream. I never knew
 * What charms our sternest season wore.

Was never yet the sky so blue,
 * Was never earth so white before.

Till now I never saw the glow Of sunset on yon hills of snow, And never learned the bough’s designs Of beauty in its leafless lines.

Did ever such a morning break
 * As that my eastern windows see?

Did ever such a moonlight take
 * Weird photographs of shrub and tree?

Rang ever bells so wild and fleet The music of the winter street? Was ever yet a sound by half So merry as yon school-boy’s laugh?

O Earth! with gladness overfraught,
 * No added charm thy face hath found;

Within my heart the change is wrought,
 * My footsteps make enchanted ground.

From couch of pain and curtained room Forth to thy light and air I come, To find in all that meets my eyes The freshness of a glad surprise.