THE QUEST ETERNAL
Ofttimes across the plains of space I gaze,
When Night holds court amid her jewelled train,
And where her fairest handmaid beauteous glows,
I watch to see some signal-fire leap forth
To tell me if his soul's sojourning there;
For in his life I've heard him oft propound
This theory of the purpose of mankind—
The age-old mystery of the whirling spheres:
I bathe within the shoreless seas of space—
My soul floats o'er the billows fathomless,
And everywhere the beacon lights gleam clear
That mark the strands where I shall yet sojourn,
When finished is my visit on earth's shore;
For we are all eternal Argonauts
In hopeful quest of God's own blessed Isle;
Earth but a port upon the blessed way,
Where rest we for a space to trim our sails.
Borne by God's tide, each captain, without chart,
Must breast the unknown sea by faith sustained,
And whither bound ask not. One only knows,
The Omnipresent Pilot man calls God.
O soul of mine, yearn not, hope on, nor fear;
What though the frail-ribbed skiff wherein thou float'st
Sink in the depths unfathomed? Thou shalt live,
And one by one God's infinite islands tread;
For of His wine immortal thou hast drunk,
And blest art thou, His pledge upon thy lips;
Of His red wine enough thy cask contains
To cheer and nourish till life's sojourn ends.
And though thine eyes grow dim with watchfulness
Ere quite the newer harbour breaks to view,
Thy Pilot's hand shall guide thy tiny bark,
Nor yet disturb thy dreamless sleep, until
On glitt'ring sands of some new shore thou'lt wake,
A little child new-robed and wonder-eyed,
Gazing enraptured on that newer dream
Of landscapes rare and shades ineffable,
With eager steps exploring lovely vales
'Midst fair companions sweet as earth e'er knew,
Learning new truths that fancies old dispel,
And in their contemplation quite forget
The times unnumbered thou hast lived and loved
And dreamed fair dreams in other planets old.
The Father's mansion has full many rooms—
Each room a wonder-work, a throbbing star,
Hung with rare paintings from the Master's brush,
So wonderful, so mighty in their power,
That though we ponder them till life's nightfall,
Our souls scarce grasp the beauty of one scene.
O thou, who count'st thy crown as nearly won!
The child grows not o'er-night unto the man.
How hard the labour of the alphabet!
How long the contest 'gainst the icy Pole!
A thousand generations have not solved
The many secrets of one human frame.
Why hopest thou then by one life's little span
To grasp the mystery of a million suns?
The warring doctors, by their long dispute,
Their little knowledge prove to humbler men—
Each holds the secret of the Only Way,
Yet each can prove the other's chart is wrong.
Man in the image of his God was made,
Mark, then, how man considers earth's dull drones—
Will God in courts of Heaven then give place
That myriads may ever sing His name,
Sitting with jewelled harps in lazy ease?
Not so! God's plan is one of ceaseless aim,
And He himself unceasingly directs.
Have we not seen His fiery messengers,
Hard riding on some planet-rounding course
Across the ranges of infinity?
O Argonaut, the journey yet is long,
And countless worlds are thine yet to explore!
None know the hour of starting—then prepare
And let thy bark clean-decked put out to sea;
But yesterday a million ships left port,
But yesterday a million more sailed in;
Still thou with heart heroic face thy tasks—
Faith in thy Pilot keep—He knows the way—
And bravely through the mystery sail on,
With trust in Him. 'Twill be revealed some day.