But when with Day’s long weariness oppressed, With folded hands I watch the sun go down, Lighting far torches in the steepled town, And kindling all the glowing, reddening west; When every sleepy bird has sought its nest; When the long shadows from the hills are thrown, And Night’s soft airs about the world are blown, Thou heart of mine, how sweet it is to rest! O, Israfil! Thou of the tuneful voice! It will be nightfall when thy voice I hear, Summoning me to slumber soft and low! Day will be done. Then will I not rejoice That all my tasks are o’er and rest is near, And, like a tired child, be glad to go?
THY NAME
What matters it what men may call Thee, Thou, The Eternal One, who reign’st supreme, alone, The boundless universe Thy mighty throne? When souls before Thee reverently bow, Oh, carest Thou what name the lips breathe low Jove, or Osiris, or the God Unknown To whom the Athenians raised their altar stone, Or Thine, O Holiest, unto whom we vow? The sun hath many names in many lands; Yet upon all its golden splendors fall, Where’er, from age to age entreating still, The adoring earth uplifts its waiting hands. Love knows all names and answereth to all— Who worships Thee may call Thee what he will!
RESURGAMUS
What though we sleep a thousand leagues apart, I by my mountains, you beside your sea? What though our moss-grown graves divided be By the wide reaches of a continent’s heart? When from long slumber we at length shall start Wakened to stronger life, exultant, free, This mortal clothed in immortality, Where shall I find my heaven save where thou art? Straight as a bird that hasteth to its nest, Glad as an eagle soaring to the light, Swift as the thought that bears my soul to thine When yon lone star hangs trembling in the west, So straight, so glad, so swift to thee my flight, Led on through farthest space by love divine!
AT THE TOMB
O Soul! rememberest thou how Mary went In the gray dawn to weep beside the tomb Where one she loved lay buried? Through the gloom, Pallid with pain, and with long anguish spent, Still pressed she on with solemn, high intent, Bearing her costly gifts of rare perfume And spices odorous with eastern bloom, Unto the Master’s sepulchre! But rent Was the great stone from its low door away; And when she stooped to peer with startled eyes Into the dark where slept the pallid clay, Lo, it was gone! And there in heavenly guise, So grandly calm, so fair in morn’s first ray, She found an angel from the upper skies!
THREE DAYS
I.
What shall I bring to lay upon thy bier O Yesterday! thou day forever dead? With what strange garlands shall I crown thy head, Thou silent One? For rose and rue are near Which thou thyself didst bring me; heart’s-ease clear And dark in purple opulence that shed Rare odors round; wormwood, and herbs that fed My soul with bitterness—they all are here! When to the banquet I was called by thee Thou gavest me rags and royal robes to wear; Honey and aloes mingled in the cup Of costly wine that thou didst pour for me; Thy throne, thy footstool, thou didst bid me share; On crusts and heavenly manna bade me sup!