The Lonely God

So Eden was deserted, and at eve     Into the quiet place God came to grieve.     His face was sad, His hands hung slackly down     Along his robe; too sorrowful to frown     He paced along the grassy paths and through     The silent trees, and where the flowers grew     Tended by Adam. All the birds had gone     Out to the world, and singing was not one     To cheer the lonely God out of His grief,     The silence broken only when a leaf     Tapt lightly on a leaf, or when the wind,     Slow-handed, swayed the bushes to its mind.     And so along the base of a round hill,     Rolling in fern, He bent His way until     He neared the little hut which Adam made,     And saw its dusky rooftree overlaid     With greenest leaves. Here Adam and his spouse     Were wont to nestle in their little house     Snug at the dew-time: here He, standing sad,     Sighed with the wind, nor any pleasure had     In heavenly knowledge, for His darlings twain     Had gone from Him to learn the feel of pain,     And what was meant by sorrow and despair,,     Drear knowledge for a Father to prepare.     There he looked sadly on the little place;     A beehive round it was, without a trace     Of occupant or owner; standing dim     Among the gloomy trees it seemed to Him     A final desolation, the last word     Wherewith the lips of silence had been stirred.     Chaste and remote, so tiny and so shy,     So new withal, so lost to any eye,     So pac't of memories all innocent     Of days and nights that in it had been spent     In blithe communion, Adam, Eve, and He,     Afar from Heaven and its gaudery;     And now no more! He still must be the God     But not the friend; a Father with a rod     Whose voice was fear, whose countenance a threat,     Whose coming terror, and whose going wet     With penitential tears; not evermore     Would they run forth to meet Him as before     With careless laughter, striving each to be     First to His hand and dancing in their glee     To see Him coming, they would hide instead     At His approach, or stand and hang the head,     Speaking in whispers, and would learn to pray     Instead of asking, 'Father, if we may.'     Never again to Eden would He haste     At cool of evening, when the sun had paced     Back from the tree-tops, slanting from the rim     Of a low cloud, what time the twilight dim     Knit tree to tree in shadow, gathering slow     Till all had met and vanished in the flow     Of dusky silence, and a brooding star     Stared at the growing darkness from afar,     While haply now and then some nested bird     Would lift upon the air a sleepy word     Most musical, or swing its airy bed     To the high moon that drifted overhead.     'Twas good to quit at evening His great throne,     To lay His crown aside, and all alone     Down through the quiet air to stoop and glide     Unkenned by angels: silently to hide     In the green fields, by dappled shades, where brooks     Through leafy solitudes and quiet nooks     Flowed far from heavenly majesty and pride,     From light astounding and the wheeling tide     Of roaring stars. Thus does it ever seem     Good to the best to stay aside and dream     In narrow places, where the hand can feel     Something beside, and know that it is real.     His angels! silly creatures who could sing     And sing again, and delicately fling     The smoky censer, bow and stand aside     All mute in adoration: thronging wide,     Till nowhere could He look but soon He saw     An angel bending humbly to the law     Mechanic; knowing nothing more of pain,     Than when they were forbid to sing again,     Or swing anew the censer, or bow down     In humble adoration of His frown.     This was the thought in Eden as He trod,     ... It is a lonely thing to be a God.     So long! afar through Time He bent His mind,     For the beginning, which He could not find,     Through endless centuries and backwards still     Endless for ever, till His 'stonied will     Halted in circles, dizzied in the swing     Of mazy nothingness., His mind could bring     Not to subjection, grip or hold the theme     Whose wide horizon melted like a dream     To thinnest edges. Infinite behind     The piling centuries were trodden blind     In gulfs chaotic, so He could not see     When He was not who always had To Be.     Not even godly fortitude can stare     Into Eternity, nor easy bear     The insolent vacuity of Time:     It is too much, the mind can never climb     Up to its meaning, for, without an end,     Without beginning, plan, or scope, or trend     To point a path, there nothing is to hold     And steady surmise: so the mind is rolled     And swayed and drowned in dull Immensity.     Eternity outfaces even Me     With its indifference, and the fruitless year     Would swing as fruitless were I never here.     And so for ever, day and night the same,     Years flying swiftly nowhere, like a game     Played random by a madman, without end     Or any reasoned object but to spend     What is unspendable, Eternal Woe!     O Weariness of Time that fast or slow     Goes never further, never has in view     An ending to the thing it seeks to do,     And so does nothing: merely ebb and flow,     From nowhere into nowhere, touching so     The shores of many stars and passing on,     Careless of what may come or what has gone.     O solitude unspeakable! to be     For ever with oneself! never to see     An equal face, or feel an equal hand,     To sit in state and issue reprimand,     Admonishment or glory, and to smile     Disdaining what has happened the while!     O to be breast to breast against a foe!     Against a friend! to strive and not to know     The laboured outcome: love nor be aware     How much the other loved, and greatly care     With passion for that happy love or hate,     Nor know what joy or dole was hid in fate,     For I have ranged the spacy width and gone     Swift north and south, striving to look upon     An ending somewhere. Many days I sped     Hard to the west, a thousand years I fled     Eastwards in fury, but I could not find     The fringes of the Infinite. Behind     And yet behind, and ever at the end     Came new beginnings, paths that did not wend     To anywhere were there: and ever vast     And vaster spaces opened, till at last     Dizzied with distance, thrilling to a pain     Unnameable, I turned to Heaven again.     And there My angels were prepared to fling     The cloudy incense, there prepared to sing     My praise and glory, O, in fury I     Then roared them senseless, then threw down the sky     And stamped upon it, buffeted a star     With My great fist, and flung the sun afar:     Shouted My anger till the mighty sound     Rung to the width, frighting the furthest bound     And scope of hearing: tumult vaster still,     Thronging the echo, dinned My ears, until     I fled in silence, seeking out a place     To hide Me from the very thought of Space.     And so, He thought, in Mine own Image I     Have made a man, remote from Heaven high     And all its humble angels: I have poured     My essence in his nostrils: I have cored     His heart with My own spirit; part of Me,     His mind with laboured growth unceasingly     Must strive to equal Mine; must ever grow     By virtue of My essence till he know     Both good and evil through the solemn test     Of sin and retribution, till, with zest,     He feels his godhead, soars to challenge Me     In Mine own Heaven for supremacy.     Through savage beasts and still more savage clay,     Invincible, I bid him fight a way     To greater battles, crawling through defeat     Into defeat again: ordained to meet     Disaster in disaster; prone to fall,     I prick him with My memory to call     Defiance at his victor and arise     With anguished fury to his greater size     Through tribulation, terror, and despair.     Astounded, he must fight to higher air,     Climb battle into battle till he be     Confronted with a flaming sword and Me.     So growing age by age to greater strength,     To greater beauty, skill and deep intent:     With wisdom wrung from pain, with energy     Nourished in sin and sorrow, he will be     Strong, pure and proud an enemy to meet,     Tremendous on a battle-field, or sweet     To walk by as a friend with candid mind.     , Dear enemy or friend so hard to find,     I yet shall find you, yet shall put My breast     In enmity or love against your breast:     Shall smite or clasp with equal ecstasy     The enemy or friend who grows to Me.     The topmost blossom of his growing I     Shall take unto Me, cherish and lift high     Beside Myself upon My holy throne:,     It is not good for God to be alone.     The perfect woman of his perfect race     Shall sit beside Me in the highest place     And be My Goddess, Queen, Companion, Wife,     The rounder of My majesty, the life,     Of My ambition. She will smile to see     Me bending down to worship at her knee     Who never bent before, and she will say,     'Dear God, who was it taught 'Thee' how to pray?'     And through eternity, adown the slope     Of never-ending time, compact of hope,     Of zest and young enjoyment, I and She     Will walk together, sowing jollity     Among the raving stars, and laughter through     The vacancies of Heaven, till the blue     Vast amplitudes of space lift up a song,     The echo of our presence, rolled along     And ever rolling where the planets sing     The majesty and glory of the King.     Then conquered, thou, Eternity, shalt lie     Under My hand as little as a fly.     I am the Master: I the mighty God     And you My workshop. Your pavilions trod     By Me and Mine shall never cease to be,     For you are but the magnitude of Me,     The width of My extension, the surround     Of My dense splendour. Rolling, rolling round,     To steeped infinity, and out beyond     My own strong comprehension, you are bond     And servile to My doings. Let you swing     More wide and ever wide, you do but fling     Around this instant Me, and measure still     The breadth and the proportion of My Will.     Then stooping to the hut, a beehive round,     God entered in and saw upon the ground     The dusty garland, Adam, (learned to weave)     Had loving placed upon the head of Eve     Before the terror came, when joyous they     Could look for God at closing of the day     Profound and happy. So the Mighty Guest     Rent, took, and placed the blossoms in His breast.     'This,' said He gently, 'I shall show My queen     When she hath grown to Me in space serene,     And say "'twas worn by Eve."' So, smiling fair,     He spread abroad His wings upon the air.