Page:The New Penelope.djvu/276

270 Mother whom we cherish, savage while so tender,

Do the lilies perish mourning their lost splendor?

Does the diamond shimmer brightlier that eternal

Time makes nothing dimmer of its light supernal?

Do the treasures hidden in earth's rocky bosom,

Cry to men unbidden that they come and loose them?

Is the dew of dawntide sad because the Summer

Kissed to death the fawn-eyed Spring, the earlier comer?

Would the golden vapors trooping over heaven,

Quench the starry tapers of the sunless even?

When the arrowy lightnings smite the rocks asunder,

Do they shrink with frightenings from the bellowing thunder?

Inconceivable Nature! these, thy inert creatures,

With their sphinx-like stature, are of man the teachers;

Silent, secret, passive, endless as the ages,

'Gainst their forces massive fruitlessly he rages.

Winds and waves misuse him, buffet and destroy him;

Thorns and pebbles bruise him, heat and cold annoy him;

Sting of insect maddens, snarl of beast affrights him;

Shade of forest saddens, breath of flowers delights him.

O thou great, mysterious mother of all mystery!

At thy lips imperious man entreats his history.—

Whence he came—and whither is his spirit fleeing:

Ere it wandered hither had it other being:

Will its subtile essence, passing through death's portal,

Put on nobler presence in a life immortal?

Or is man but matter, that a touch ungentle,

Back again may shatter to forms elemental?

Can mere atoms question how they feel sensation?

Or dust make suggestion of its own creation?

Yet if man were better than his base conditions,

Could things baser fetter his sublime ambitions?