XX.
Go ye and look upon that land,
That far vast land that few behold,
And none beholding understand,—
That old, old land which men call new,
That land as old as time is old;—
Go journey with the seasons through
Its wastes, and learn how limitless,
How shoreless lie the distances,
Before you come to question this
Or dare to dream what grandeur is.
The solemn silence of that plain,
Where unmanned tempests ride and reign,
It awes and it possesses you.
'Tis, oh! so eloquent.
And bended skies seem built for it,
With rounded roof all fashioned fit,
And frescoed clouds, quaint-wrought and true;
While all else seems so far, so vain,
An idle tale but illy told,
Before this land so lone and old.
Its story is of God alone,
For man has lived and gone away,
And left but little heaps of stone,
And all seems some long yesterday.
Lo! here you learn how more than fit
And dignified is silence, when
You hear the petty jeers of men
Who point, and show their pointless wit.
The vastness of that voiceless plain,
Its awful solitudes remain
Thenceforth for aye a part of you,
And you are of the favored few,
For you have learn'd your littleness,
And heed not names that name you less.
Some silent red men cross your track;
Some sun-tann'd trappers come and go;
Some rolling seas of buffalo
Break thunder-like and far away
Against the foot-hills, breaking back
Like breakers of some troubled bay;
But not a voice the long, lone day.
Some white-tail'd antelope blow by
So airy-like; some foxes shy
And shadow-like shoot to and fro
Like weavers' shuttles, as you pass;
And now and then from out the grass
You hear some lone bird cluck, and call
A sharp keen call for her lost brood,
That mantles like some sombre pall,
Seem deeper still, and that is all.
A wide domain of mysteries
And signs that men misunderstand!
A land of space and dreams; a land
Of sea-salt lakes and dried-up seas!
A land of caves and caravans,
And lonely wells and pools;
A land
That hath its purposes and plans,
That seems so like dead Palestine,
Save that its wastes have no confine
Till push'd against the levell'd skies;
A land from out whose depths shall rise
The new-time prophets.
Yea, the land
From out whose awful depths shall come,
All clad in skins, with dusty feet,
A man fresh from his Maker's hand,
A singer singing oversweet,
A charmer charming very wise;
And then all men shall not be dumb.
Nay, not be dumb, for he shall say,
"Take heed, for I prepare the way
For weary feet."
Lo! from this land
Of Jordan streams and sea-wash'd sand,
The Christ shall come when next the race
Of man shall look upon his face.