Poems from the Inner Life

by Lizzie Doten

I would bear a love Platonic to the souls in earthly life;
I would give a sign Masonic to the heroes in the strife;
I have been their fellow-craftsman, bound apprentice to that Art,
Whereby Life, that cunning draughtsman, builds his temple in the heart.
But with Earth no longer mated, I have passed the First Degree;
I have been initiated to the second mystery.
O, its high and holy meaning not one soul shall fail to see!
Now, with loftiest aspirations, onward through the worlds I march,
Through the countless constellations, upward to the Royal Arch.
“Come up higher!” cry the angels: “come up to the Royal Arch.”

II.

Farewell! Farewell!
Like the tolling of a bell,
Sounding forth some funeral knell,—
Tolling with a sad refrain,
Not for those who rest from pain,
But for those who still remain;
So sweet pathos would I borrow
From the loving lips of Sorrow,
Weaving in a plaintive minor with the cadence of my song,
For the souls that lonely languish,
For the hearts that break with anguish,
For the weak ones and the tempted, who must sin and suffer long;
For the hosts of living martyrs, groaning ’neath some ancient wrong;
For the cowards and the cravens, who in guilt alone are strong.
But from all Earth’s woe and sadness,
All its folly and its madness,
I would never strive to save you, or avert the evil blow;
Even if I would, I could not,
Even if I could, I would not
Turn the course of Time’s great river, in its grand, majestic flow;
Grapple with those mighty causes whose results I may not know:
All Life’s sorrows end in blessing, as the future yet shall show.

From Life’s overflowing beaker I have drained the bitter draught,
Changing to a maddening ichor in my being as I quaffed.
I have felt the hot blood rushing o’er its red and rameous path,
Like the molten lava, gushing in its wild, volcanic wrath;
Like a bubbling, boiling Geyser, in the regions of the pole;
Like a Scylla or Charybdis, threatening to ingulf my soul.
O, for all such fire-wrought natures let my rhythmic numbers toll!
Vulnerable, like Achilles, only in one fatal part,
I was wounded, by Life’s arrows, in the head, but not the heart.
“Come up higher!” cried the angels;—and I hastened to depart.

III.

Farewell! farewell!
Like a merry marriage-bell,
Pealing with a tuneful swell,
Telling, in a joyful strain,
With a whispered, sweet refrain,
Of the hearts no longer twain;
So no longer cursed and fated,
Fondly loved and truly mated,
I can pour my inspirations, free as Orpheus, through my strain.
Gifted with a sense of seeing
Far beyond my earthly being,
I can feel I have not suffered, loved, and hoped, and feared in vain;
Every earthly sin and sorrow I can only count as gain:
I can chant a grand “Te Deum” o’er the record of my pain.

Ye who grope in darkness blindly,
Ye who seek a refuge kindly,
Ye upon whose hearts the ravens—ghostly ravens—perch and prey,
Listen! for the bells are ringing,
Tuneful as the angels singing,
Ringing in the glorious morning of your spirit’s marriage-day,
When the soul, no longer fettered to the feeble form of clay,
To a high, harmonious union, soars, elate with hope away.
Where the iris arch of Beauty bridges o’er celestial skies,
Where the golden line of Duty, like a living pathway lies,
Where the gonfalons of Glory float upon the fragrant air,
Ye who read Life’s lengthening story, find a Royal Chapter there.
Ye shall see how men and nations o’er the ways of life advance;
Ye shall watch the constellations in their mazy, mystic dance;
And the Central Sun shall greet you—greet you with a golden glance.
O, for souls in Life Eternal let the bells in gladness ring!
Bind the wreath of orange blossoms, and the wedding garment bring.
“Come up higher!” cry the angels.—Let the bells in gladness ring.

IV.

Farewell! Farewell!
Like the chiming of the bells,
Which a tale of triumph tells;
As the news in tuneful notes,
Leaping from the brazen throats,
On the startled ether floats;—
So in freedom, great and glorious,
Over flesh and sense victorious,
Does the Spirit leap the barrier which across its pathway lies!
Greater far than royal Cæsar,
Fearless as the northern Æsir,
Drawn by Love’s celestial magnet, winged with faith and hope it flies,
Upward o’er the starry pathway, leading onward through the skies,
To the land of Light and Beauty, where no bud of promise dies.

There, through all the vast Empyrean,
Wafted, as on gales Hesperian,
Comes the stirring cry of “Progress”! telling of the yet to be.
Tuneful as a seraph’s lyre,
“Come up higher! Come up higher!”
Cry the hosts of holy angels; “learn the heavenly Masonry:
Life is one eternal progress: enter, then, the Third Degree;—
Ye who long for light and wisdom seek the Inner Mystery!