THROUGH REVERENT EYES.

To-night I saw her. Strange indeed

My faint heart should thus fail me;—strange

That after such transporting love

In me three days should work such change.

Not more than three?—Nay, barely three;

And yet, within that raptured time

I’ve lived, it seems, a century

Of hope in Love’s own blissful clime.

’Tis strange, this love of mine, so strange;

So strange I fear sometimes I do

Not love, but only dream I love,

And sleep the mid-life watches through.

How many, many is the time

I’ve looked upon some face, some form,

And felt the sudden thrill of some

Fair hand awake the passion-storm!

But only momentary; and then

That old, old longing for the real

And soul-enlighted face of her

Whose image is my heart’s ideal.

Ah yes! to-night as I sit and write

Sweet visions come before my eyes.

Sweet visions only! and like lights

Along the shore they fall and rise.

Who are they? Friends of my happy days,

The friends of my childhood, boyhood, youth,

And later age. Yet none there are,

I fear, I ever loved in truth.

I’ve often wondered what love is.

I’ve heard men speak of it,—ah yes!

I’ve heard fair women, too! but what

It is, I wonder did they guess?

I’ve read of love; I’ve thought of love;

I’ve read and thought that in that hour

When love should truly come to one,

’Twould come an all-possessing power;

’Twould smite upon the chord of self,

And break the faulty string in twain;

’Twould touch a more melodious chord

And wake a glad, harmonious strain.

And so I wonder what love is;

And if I ever knew before

A few short, happy days ago

How love can rise, and sing, and soar.

Too sacred for my heart to hold,

To me a woman is divine—

As far above me as the stars

That I adore because they shine.

I can but stand and gaze above,

I can but worship and adore,

Nor dream that I could reach her height—

I could but drag her down; no more.

Yet other men have loved. Must I,

Must I alone throughout the night

Stand gazing at a star that shines

For me alone upon the mountain height?

Ah yes! I fear me that all night

I’ll watch the silent waning star

Adoring and revering till

It sinks behind some rugged scar.

I fear I do not love; I hold

The fairer sex too high, I fear;

And bowed with awe and humbleness,

Instead of loving I revere.

Among the noisy human crowd,

I stand as stands the silent stone;

And like it, too, I dumbly pray

To whom I love, and inly moan.

And thus it is my reverence brings

Me woe. As silent as the tomb,

My heart bowed down with sacred awe

Still wanders thro’ Love’s trackless dome.

Men call me cold. Alas! could they

But feel the half, the tenth I feel,

Could they but look thro’ reverent eyes,

They might my sealed heart unseal.

Too deep the mighty river flows;

Too deep the silent waters are;

I catch the image, not the form,

Embrace the vision, not the star.

Can heart of man pluck down a star

And wear it on his breast? or dip

Its gleam from out the soundless sea

And press it to his loving lip?

No more, no more indeed can I,

No more can I pluck down the love

That like an angel day and night

Still wanders through the dome above.

Oh could I ask a woman’s love?

I could not, would not drag her down!

I could not gratify a thought

So selfish—wed her to a clown!

No! no! my only hope must be

To rise above this selfish self;

To grow more pure in heart and hope,

To lose myself in her sweet self.

To-night, I say, I saw her; her

Who wakes in me such thoughts as these;

I felt her hand as I sometimes feel

An angel’s hand in the dreamy breeze.

She seemed far off—so far away!

And yet, I knew and saw her near:

I touched her hand; I heard her voice,

And oh the music thrilled my ear.

When here alone within my room,

I feel most brave; but when before

The one I love, my heart grows faint,

I can but silently adore.

I talk to her? Ah yes, sweet hours!

Tho’ every act and word I know

Must say my heart is full of love,

I dare not, can not tell her so.

Some day, perhaps,—some bright, sweet day!—

My tongue may tell her as my song

The struggle of my striving soul

To rise to her above the throng.

Great God, lift up my failing soul,

And purify this heart of mine.

Oh lead me through the realms of love

With that unfailing hand of Thine.

I ask nor wealth, nor fame, nor power;

I ask a pure and loving heart

That I may join that heart to hers

Forever nevermore to part.

And oh then peace, peace, the peace of love

For that old, old longing; and the real

And soul-enlighted face of her,

The image of my heart’s ideal.