HIGHER.
I have lifted up my eyes unto the mountains, whence help shall come to me.—Ps. cxx.
Too late have I known thee, O Infinite Beauty! too late have I loved thee, O Beauty ever ancient and new!—St. Augustine.
I.
'Mid wide green meadows, made more fair with flowers—
Tall, golden lilies, swaying in the sun,
Slight, clustering rue that web of silver spun—
I lingered dreaming through the day’s first hours.
About me men in work-day toil were bent,
Swift levelling the daisies’ drift of snow,
The clover’s purple sweetness laying low,
And ripened grain whose summer life was spent.
I sat where leafy trees a shadow wrought
Amid the broad, warm sunshine of the plain,
Where, undisturbed, poured forth the wood-birds’ strain
And fancy’s magic played with every thought:
A whole life centred in each daisy-round,
And work-day toil seemed but a slumbrous sound.
II.
Low rippling at my feet a loitering stream
Slipt, murmuring music to each listening stone,
Or flung its silver laughter where soft shone
The slant sunbeam breaking the shadows’ dream;
Betwixt the robins’ song the swift blue-bird
Flashed like a heavenly message through the shade
Where with the sunshine gentlest breezes played,
And quiet shadows to soft motion stirred.
Between me and the meadow’s smitten flow’rs
The fresh June roses wreathed the rude fence bars,
Frail elder trailed its galaxy of stars,
While butterflies sped by in golden show’rs—
Far, far beyond, the earth-haze shining through,
Rose the great mountains’ dim and misty blue.
III.
So far and strange those misty hills! so near
And intimate the little, shady nook,
The skies reflected in the merry brook—
Those distant heights so lonely and austere!
Scarce e’en the busy mowers of the field
Lifted their eyes to those dim gates of blue
Where all their gathered harvest must pass through,
Its grass and stubble be one day revealed.
As grew the day, more clear the summits grew;
Springing from shadow, radiant waterfalls
Flung trails of sunshine o’er the stern rock-walls—
Such sunshine as the valley never knew!
Paled the June roses, fading in my hand,
Tarnished the lowland river’s golden sand!
IV.
Then seemed to stir the trembling leaves amid,
To mingle with the robins’ cheerful call,
A low, sad voice, as if the hills let fall
Faint, wandering echoes of sweet music hid
In dark ravine, on solitary height.
I dropped my roses, gone their ravishment;
I passed the mowers o’er their harvest bent;
I sought those distant mountain-lands of light.
Wild, thorny brambles stretched across my way,
Sharp rocks were weary pathways for my feet,
Yet ever lured me on those accents sweet
Whose very sadness was my weakness’ stay,
With every step more intimate and near—
“Take heart, poor child! ’tis I; have thou no fear.
V.
“Take heart, and I thy faltering steps will lead
Above the earth-mists and the brier-strewn road
To my far mountain-tops, the pure abode
Of heaven-born stream, and fair enamelled mead
Whose flow’rs immortal fells not any scythe.
Long have I sought thee 'mid the withering flowers
Wherewith thou smiling crown’dst the fading hours,
Weaving fine fancies 'mid the murmuring blithe
Of lowland stream, and birds, and pattering leaves;
Long have I called thee, waiting for thy voice,
So faint it rose above the troublous noise
Of earthly harvesters among their sheaves;
Long have I waited thy dear heart to win,
So long desired to reign with thee therein.”
VI.
O sorrow-stricken Voice, so piercing sweet!
Blinding my eyes with tears, smiting my heart
Like some fire-pointed, swift-descending dart,
And giving strength unto my climbing feet
Seeking those dim and misty hills of blue.
Lo! the great mountains at thy music thrilled,
And all their deep recesses echoes filled—
Near and more near the sunlit summits grew!
The little birds that gathered, unafraid,
On berry-laden boughs beside my way
Mingled thy cadence with their roundelay—
Its joyousness grown sweeter through thy shade.
O Voice of love and grief, sad for my sin,
What ways were thine so poor a thing to win!
VII.
O thou Almighty Lord of life and death,
Thou that hast led me out the wilderness
And shown me thy great hills’ pure strength to bless,
Guard in my soul, lest still it perisheth!
The cross thou gavest still I strive to bear—
So light it grows that half, at times, I fear
My trust is lost, sign of thy service dear—
Dost thou bear all, dear Lord, for me no share?
So in thy steps to follow still I seek,
The wearing way thy patient feet have pressed,
The blood-stained way thy heavy cross hath blessed—
Dost thou hold me to suffer aught too weak?
E’en when I strive one little thorn to grasp
It turns to tender roses in my clasp.
VIII.
The very stones win smoothness from thy feet,
Beneath whose tread immortal flowers spring,
Holding within their snowy hearts no sting,
And breathing spices for love’s incense meet.
The lark, swift rising thy approach to greet,
The fulness of his heavenly song to pour
No higher than thy breast divine need soar,
There hiding life and song in joy complete!
Though sheltering trees o’ershadow not my way
To ward the sultry glow of noonday sun,
Yet 'neath thy cross the coolest shade is won
That dims no ray of that eternal day
That from yon unstained hills of peace doth shine,
Whereto thou leadest me, O Love Divine!
IX.
Yet many bitter tears I needs must weep,
Remembering the glimmer of the plain
Where nodding lilies and the bending grain
Seemed rarest treasure in their gold to keep;
Those thoughtless hours ere I learned to look
Beyond my roses to the misty hills—
The far-off pastures only God’s hand tills;
Where lost I in the laughter of the brook
And song of earthly birds that loving Voice,
That patient call, alas! too long denied.
Still in my heart in weeping woe must bide,
E’en in His breast who bids my soul rejoice,
The mem’ry of that day’s ingratitude
When God in vain for love his creature sued.