Spirit Song

Thou wert once the purest wave      Where the tempests roar;     Thou art now a golden wave      On the golden shore --      Ever -- ever -- evermore!     Thou wert once the bluest wave      Shadows e'er hung o'er;     Thou art now the brightest wave      On the brightest shore --      Ever -- ever -- evermore!     Thou wert once the gentlest wave      Ocean ever bore;     Thou art now the fairest wave      On the fairest shore --      Ever -- ever -- evermore!     Whiter foam than thine, O wave,      Wavelet never wore,     Stainless wave; and now you lave      The far and stormless shore --      Ever -- ever -- evermore!     Who bade thee go, O bluest wave,      Beyond the tempest's roar?     Who bade thee flow, O fairest wave,      Unto the golden shore,      Ever -- ever -- evermore?     Who waved a hand, O purest wave?      A hand that blessings bore,     And wafted thee, O whitest wave,      Unto the fairest shore,      Ever -- ever -- evermore?     Who winged thy way, O holy wave,      In days and days of yore?     And wept the words: "O winsome wave,      This earth is not thy shore!"      Ever -- ever -- evermore?     Who gave thee strength, O snowy wave --      The strength a great soul wore --     And said: "Float up to God! my wave,      His heart shall be thy shore!"      Ever -- ever -- evermore?     Who said to thee, O poor, weak wave:      "Thy wail shall soon be o'er,     Float on to God, and leave me, wave,      Upon this rugged shore!"      Ever -- ever -- evermore?     And thou hast reached His feet! Glad wave,      Dost dream of days of yore?     Dost yearn that we shall meet, pure wave,      Upon the golden shore,      Ever -- ever -- evermore?     Thou sleepest in the calm, calm wave,      Beyond the wild storm's roar!     I watch amid the storm, bright wave,      Like rock upon the shore;      Ever -- ever -- evermore!     Sing at the feet of God, white wave,      Song sweet as one of yore!     I would not bring thee back, heart wave,      To break upon this shore,      Ever -- ever -- evermore!          *    *    *    *    *     "No, no," he gently spoke: "You know me not;     My mind is like a temple, dim, vast, lone;     Just like a temple when the priest has gone,     And all the hymns that rolled along the vaults     Are buried deep in silence; when the lights     That flashed on altars died away in dark,     And when the flowers, with all their perfumed breath     And beauteous bloom, lie withered on the shrine.     My mind is like a temple, solemn, still,     Untenanted save by the ghosts of gloom     Which seem to linger in the holy place --     The shadows of the sinners who passed there,     And wept, and spirit-shriven left upon     The marble floor memorials of their tears."     And while he spake, his words sank low and low,     Until they hid themselves in some still depth     He would not open; and his face was sad.     When he spoke thus, his very gentleness     Passed slowly from him, and his look, so mild,     Grew marble cold; a pallor as of death     Whitened his lips, and clouds rose to his eyes,     Dry, rainless clouds, where lightnings seemed to sleep.     His words, as tender as a rose's smile,     Slow-hardened into thorns, but seemed to sting     Himself the most; his brow, at such times, bent     Most lowly down, and wore such look of pain     As though it bore an unseen crown of thorns.     Who knows? perhaps it did!                                 But he would pass     His hand upon his brow, or touch his eyes,     And then the olden gentleness, like light     Which seems transfigured by the touch of dark,     Would tremble on his face, and he would look     More gentle then than ever, and his tone     Would sweeten, like the winds when storms have passed.     I saw him, one day, thus most deeply moved     And darkened; ah! his face was like a tomb     That hid the dust of dead and buried smiles,     But, suddenly, his face flashed like a throne,     And all the smiles arose as from the dead,     And wore the glory of an Easter morn;     And passed beneath the sceptre of a hope     Which came from some far region of his heart,     Came up into his eyes, and reigned a queen.     I marveled much; he answered to my look     With all his own, and wafted me these words:     "There are transitions in the lives of all.     There are transcendent moments when we stand     In Thabor's glory with the chosen three,     And weak with very strength of human love     We fain would build our tabernacles there;     And, Peter-like, for very human joy     We cry aloud: `'Tis good that we are here;'     Swift are these moments, like the smile of God,     Which glorifies a shadow and is gone.     "And then we stand upon another mount --     Dark, rugged Calvary; and God keeps us there     For awful hours, to make us there His own     In Crucifixion's tortures; 'tis His way.     We wish to cling to Thabor; He says: `No.'     And what He says is best because most true.     We fain would fly from Calvary; He says: `No.'     And it is true because it is the best.     And yet, my friend, these two mounts are the same.     "They lie apart, distinct and separate,     And yet -- strange mystery! -- they are the same.     For Calvary is a Thabor in the dark,     And Thabor is a Calvary in the light.     It is the mystery of Holy Christ!     It is the mystery of you and me!     Earth's shadows move, as moves far-heaven's sun,     And, like the shadows of a dial, we     Tell, darkly, in the vale the very hours     The sun tells brightly in the sinless skies.     Dost understand?" I did not understand --     Or only half; his face was very sad.     "Dost thou not understand me? Then your life     Is shallow as a brook that brawls along     Between two narrow shores; you never wept --     You never wore great clouds upon your brow     As mountains wear them; and you never wore     Strange glories in your eyes, as sunset skies     Oft wear them; and your lips -- they never sighed     Grand sighs which bear the weight of all the soul;     You never reached your arms a-broad -- a-high --     To grasp far-worlds, or to enclasp the sky.     Life, only life, can understand a life;     Depth, only depth, can understand the deep.     The dewdrop glist'ning on the lily's face     Can never learn the story of the sea."          *    *    *    *    *     One day we strolled together to the sea.     Gray evening and the night had almost met,     We walked between them, silent, to the shore.     The feet of weird faced waves ran up the beach     Like children in mad play, then back again     As if the spirit of the land pursued;     Then up again -- and farther -- and they flung     White, foamy arms around each other's neck;     Then back again with sudden rush and shout,     As if the sea, their mother, called them home;     Then leaned upon her breast, as if so tired,     But swiftly tore themselves away and rushed     Away, and farther up the beach, and fell     For utter weariness; and loudly sobbed     For strength to rise and flow back to the deep.     But all in vain, for other waves swept on     And trampled them; the sea cried out in grief,     The gray beach laughed and clasped them to the sands.     It was the flood-tide and the even-tide --     Between the evening and the night we walked --     We walked between the billows and the beach,     We walked between the future and the past,     Down to the sea we twain had strolled -- to part.     The shore was low, with just the faintest rise     Of many-colored sands and shreds of shells,     Until about a stone's far throw they met     A fringe of faded grass, with here and there     A pale-green shrub; and farther into land --     Another stone's throw farther -- there were trees --     Tall, dark, wild trees, with intertwining arms,     Each almost touching each, as if they feared     To stand alone and look upon the sea.     The night was in the trees -- the evening on the shore.     We walked between the evening and the night --     Between the trees and tide we silent strolled.     There lies between man's silence and his speech     A shadowy valley, where thro' those who pass     Are never silent, tho' they may not speak;     And yet they more than breathe. It is the vale     Of wordless sighs, half uttered and half-heard.     It is the vale of the unutterable.     We walked between our silence and our speech,     And sighed between the sunset and the stars,     One hour beside the sea.                              There was a cloud     Far o'er the reach of waters, hanging low     'Tween sea and sky -- the banner of the storm,     Its edges faintly bright, as if the rays     That fled far down the West had rested there     And slumbered, and had left a dream of light.     Its inner folds were dark -- its central, more.     It did not flutter; there it hung, as calm     As banner in a temple o'er a shrine.     Its shadow only fell upon the sea,     Above the shore the heavens bended blue.     We walked between the cloudless and the cloud,     That hour, beside the sea.                                 But, quick as thought,     There gleamed a sword of wild, terrific light --     Its hilt in heaven, its point hissed in the sea,     Its scabbard in the darkness -- and it tore     The bannered cloud into a thousand shreds,     Then quivered far away, and bent and broke     In flashing fragments;                             And there came a peal     That shook the mighty sea from shore to shore,     But did not stir a sand-grain on the beach;     Then silence fell, and where the low cloud hung     Clouds darker gathered -- and they proudly waved     Like flags before a battle.                                  We twain walked --     We walked between the lightning's parted gleams,     We walked between the thunders of the skies,     We walked between the wavings of the clouds,     We walked between the tremblings of the sea,     We walked between the stillnesses and roars     Of frightened billows; and we walked between     The coming tempest and the dying calm --     Between the tranquil and the terrible --     That hour beside the sea.                                 There was a rock     Far up the winding beach that jutted in     The sea, and broke the heart of every wave     That struck its breast; not steep enough nor high     To be a cliff, nor yet sufficient rough     To be a crag; a simple, low, lone rock;     Yet not so low as that its brow was laved     By highest tide, yet not sufficient high     To rise beyond the reach of silver spray     That rained up from the waves -- their tears that fell     Upon its face, when they died at its feet.     Around its sides damp seaweed hung in long,     Sad tresses, dripping down into the sea.     A tuft or two of grass did green the rock,     A patch or so of moss; the rest was bare.     Adown the shore we walked 'tween eve and night;     But when we reached the rock the eve and night     Had met; light died; we sat down in the dark     Upon the rock.                     Meantime a thousand clouds     Careered and clashed in air -- a thousand waves     Whirled wildly on in wrath -- a thousand winds     Howled hoarsely on the main, and down the skies     Into the hollow seas the fierce rain rushed,     As if its ev'ry drop were hot with wrath;     And, like a thousand serpents intercoiled,     The lightnings glared and hissed, and hissed and glared,     And all the horror shrank in horror back     Before the maddest peals that ever leaped     Out from the thunder's throat.                                     Within the dark     We silent sat. No rain fell on the rock,     Nor in on land, nor shore; only on sea     The upper and the lower waters met     In wild delirium, like a thousand hearts     Far parted -- parted long -- which meet to break,     Which rush into each other's arms and break     In terror and in tempests wild of tears.     No rain fell on the rock; but flakes of foam     Swept cold against our faces, where we sat     Between the hush and howling of the winds,     Between the swells and sinking of the waves,     Between the stormy sea and stilly shore,     Between the rushings of the maddened rains,     Between the dark beneath and dark above.     We sat within the dread heart of the night:     One, pale with terror; one, as calm and still     And stern and moveless as the lone, low rock.