GOD AND HEAVEN
He knew that heaven and God were near to humanity and earth. He was not afraid of death. He teaches us all Christian courage in this line of thought. He knew that his "Greek Heights" were very near to heaven because he knew that anywhere is near to heaven to the believer:
"Be this my home till some fair star
Stoops earthward and shall beckon me;
For surely God-land lies not far
From these Greek Heights and this great sea!"
He yearned to teach men to believe in this God and his nearness; this
God in whom he believed with all his heart. This cry out of his soul,
written just a few days before his death, is like Tennyson's "Crossing
The Bar" in that it was his swan song:
"Could I but teach man to believe,
Could I but make small men to grow,
To break frail spider webs that weave
About their thews and bind them low.
Could I but sing one song and lay
Grim Doubt; I then could go my way
In tranquil silence, glad, serene,
And satisfied from off the scene.
But Ah! this disbelief, this doubt,
This doubt of God, this doubt of God
The damned spot will not out!
Wouldst learn to know one little flower,
Its perfume, perfect form, or hue?
Yea, wouldst thou have one perfect hour
Of all the years that come to you?
Then grow as God hath planted, grow
A lovely oak, or daisy low,
As he hath set his garden; be
Just what thou art, or grass or tree.
Thy treasures up in heaven laid
Await thy sure ascending soul:
Life after life—be not afraid I"
Yes, Miller believed in home, in Christ, and God and immortality. He believed that heaven and God were near to man, and in his last days there was no doubt. Thus his own writings confirm what Mrs. Miller, on that memorable afternoon, made certain by her warm, tear-wet, personal testimony. And as she quoted these last lines, and the sun had set behind the Golden Gate, which we could even then see from the room in which we sat, we felt as though Miller himself were near, listening as she read, listening with us. And these are the last verses that she quoted, which seem fit verses with which to close this chapter study of Joaquin Miller:
"I will my ashes to my steeps,
I will my steeps, green cross, red rose,
To those who love the beautiful,
Come, learn to be of those."
And is it any wonder that, as we sat in the twilight listening to that invitation to his home, these words made the red roses and the green cross of Christ against the hill our very own? And is it any wonder that, as she quoted these last verses we felt him near to us?
"Enough to know that I and you
Shall breathe together there as here
Some clearer, sweeter atmosphere,
Shall walk, high, wider ways above
Our petty selves, shall learn to lead
Man up and up in thought and deed.
and,
"Come here when I am far away,
Fond lovers of this lovely land,
And sit quite still and do not say,
'Turn right or left and lend a hand,'
But sit beneath my kindly trees
And gaze far out yon sea of seas.
These trees, these very stones could tell
How much I loved them and how well,
And maybe I shall come and sit
Beside you; sit so silently
You will not reck of it."
[Illustration: ALAN SEEGER]
IV
ALAN SEEGER
[Footnote: The poetical selections appearing in this chapter are used
by permission, and are taken from poems by Alan Seeger. Published by
Charles Scribner's Sons, New York. ]
POET OF YOUTH, BEAUTY, FAME, JOY, LOVE, DEATH, AND GOD
Rupert Brooke and Alan Seeger—so shall their names be linked together forever by those who love poetry. In the first place, they were much alike: buoyant, young; loving life, living life; and both dying for the great cause of humanity in the world's greatest war. Brooke the Englishman; Seeger the American; so are they linked. Both were but lads in their twenties; both vivid as lightning and as warm as summer sunshine in their personalities; both truly great poets, who had, even in the short time they lived, run a wide gamut of poetic expression.
I am not saying that either Brooke or Seeger may be called a Christian poet; nor am I saying that they may not be called that. This war in which they have given their lives will make a vast difference in the definition of what a Christian is. I can detect no orthodox Christian message in either of their dreamings, but I do find in both poets a clean, high moral message, and therefore give them place in this pulpit of the poets.
The wide range of this young American's writing astonishes the reader. He died very young: while the morning sun was just lifting its head above the eastern horizon of life; while the heavens were still crimson, and gold, and rose, and fire. What he might have written in the steady white heat of noontime and in life's glorious afternoon of experience, and in its subtle charm of "sunset and the evening star," one can only guess. But while he lived he lived; and, living, wrote. He dipped his pen in that same gold and fire of the only part of life he knew, its daybreak, and wrote. No wonder his writing was warm; no wonder he wrote of Youth, Beauty, Fame, Joy, Love, Death, and God.