Love Letters of a Violinist. Letter XI. Faith.

Letter XI. Faith.     I.         Now will I sing to God a song of praise,          And thank the morning for the light it brings,          Aye! and the earth for every flower that springs,         And every tree that, in the jocund days,         Thrills to the blast. My voice I will upraise          To thank the world for every bird that sings.     II.         I will unpack my mind of all its fears,          I will advance to where the matin fires          Absorb the hills. My hopes and my desires         Will lead me safe; and day will have no tears         And night no torture, as in former years,          To warp my nature when my soul aspires.     III.         I will endure. I will not strive to peep          Behind the barriers of the days to come,          Nor, adding up the figures of a sum,         Dispose of prayers as men dispose of sleep.         I cannot count the stars, or walk the deep;          But I can pray, and Faith shall not be dumb.     IV.         I take myself and thee as mine estate -          Thee and myself. The world is centred there.          If thou be well I know the skies are fair;         If not, they press me down with leaden weight,         And all is dark; and morning comes too late;          And all the birds are tuneless in the air.     V.         I need but thee: thee only. Thou alone          Art all my joy: a something to the sight          As grand as Silence, and as snowy white.         And do thou pardon if I make it known,         As oft I do, with mine Amati's tone,          Amid the stillness of the starry night.     VI.         Oh, give me pity of thy heart and mind,          Mine own sweet Lady, if I vex thee now.          If the repeating of my constant vow         Be undesired, have pity! I were blind,         And deaf and dumb, and mad, were I inclined          To curb my feelings when to thee I bow.     VII.         Forgive the challenge of my longing lips          If these offend thee; and forgive me, too,          If I perceive, within thine eyes of blue,         More than I utter - more than, in eclipse,         A man may note atween the argent tips          Of frighted Dian whom the Fates pursue.     VIII.         It is the thing I dream of; 'tis the thing          We know as rapture, when, with sudden thrill,          It snares the heart and subjugates the will;         I mean the pride, the power, by which we cling         To natures nobler than the ones we bring,          To keep entire the fire we cannot chill.     IX.         Coyest of nymphs, my Lady! whom I seek          As sailors seek salvation out at sea,          And poets fame, and soldiers victory,         Behold! I note the blush upon thy cheek,         The flag of truce that tells me thou art meek          And soon wilt yield thy fortress up to me.     X.         It is thy soul; it is thy soul in arms          Which thus I conquer. All thy furtive sighs,          And all the glances of thy wistful eyes,         Proclaim the swift surrender of thy charms.         I kiss thy hand; and tremors and alarms          Discard, in parting, all their late disguise.     XI.         They were not foes. They knew me, one and all;          They knew I lov'd thee, and they lured me on          To try my fortune, and to wait thereon         For just reward. The scaling of the wall         Was not the meed; there came the festival,          And now there comes the crown that I must don.     XII.         O my Belovd! I am king of thee,          And thou my queen; and I will wear the crown          A little moment, for thy love's renown.         Yea, for a moment, it shall circle me,         And then be thine, so thou, upon thy knee,          Do seek the same, with all thy tresses down.     XIII.         For woman still is mistress of the man,          Though man be master. 'Tis the woman's right          To choose her king, and crown him in her sight,         And make him feel the pressure of the span         Of her soft arms, as only woman can;          For, with her weakness, she excels his might.     XIV.         It is her joy indeed to be so frail          That he must shield her; he of all the world          Whom most she loves; and then, if he be hurl'd         To depths of sorrow, she will more avail         Than half a senate. Troubles may assail,          But she will guide him by her lips impearl'd.     XV.         A woman clung to Csar; he was great,          And great the power he gain'd by sea and land.          But when he wrong'd her, when he spurn'd the hand         Which once he knelt to, when he scoff'd at Fate,         Glory dispers'd, and left him desolate;          For God remember'd all that first was plann'd.     XVI.         The cannon's roar, the wisdom of the sage,          The strength of armies, and the thrall of kings -          All these are weak compared to weaker things.         Napoleon fell because, in puny rage,         He wrong'd his house; and earth became a cage          For this poor eagle with his batter'd wings.     XVII.         Believe me, Love! I honour, night and day,          The name of Woman. 'Tis the nobler sex.          Villains may shame it; sorrows may perplex;         But still 'tis watchful. Man may take away         All its possessions, all its worldly sway,          And yet be worshipp'd by the soul he wrecks.     XVIII.         A word of love to Woman is as sweet          As nectar'd rapture in a golden bowl;          And when she quaffs the heavens asunder roll,         And God looks through. And, from his judgment-seat,         He blesses those who part, and those who meet,          And those who join the links of soul with soul.     XIX.         And are there none untrue? God knows there are!          Aye, there are those who learn in time the laugh          That ends in madness - women who for chaff         Have sold their corn - who seek no guiding-star,         And find no faith to light them from afar;          Of whom 'tis said: "They need no epitaph."     XX.         All this is known; but lo! for sake of One          Who lives in glory - for my mother's sake,          For thine, and hers, O Love! - I pity take         On all poor women. Jesu's will be done!         Honour for all, and infamy for none,          This side the borders of the burning lake.