Poems of Progress

by Lizzie Doten

“Save me! O thou loving Lord!” I cried,
“From the unforeseen intrusion
Of this sad, but sweet delusion,
From this strange and cruel semblance
To the cherished love that long since died.

“Come up hither!”
Cried my unknown guide who went before.
“Come up hither!”
And I followed in the way once more,—
Upward, where the tempests gathered,
Where the lightnings crouched within their lair,
Where the mighty God of thunder
With his hammer smote the shuddering air,
Where the tall cliffs, battle-splintered,
Reared their lofty summits, bleak and bare;
Higher yet, where all my life-tide,
With the breath of Heaven grew chill;
And I felt my pulses quickened,
With a strange, electric thrill.

Not one blossom brightened in my pathway,
Not one lichen dared that wintry breath;
But far up above, and all around me,
Brooded awful silence, as of death.
And I walked where ragged precipices,
Overhanging wild and dark abysses,
Frowned upon the dizzy depths below;
Where the yawning chasms,
Rent by earthquake spasms,
Strove to fill their hungry throats with snow.
Burdened with a sense of solemn grandeur,
With a deeply reverent heart I trod
’Mid those awful and majestic altars
Of the Unknown God.
Musing deeply,
As I turned an angle of the rocky wall,
Lo! before me
Stood a figure, ghostly, gaunt, and tall;
Like the famous, fabled image,
Falling from Dardanian skies,
Wrapped in white, marmorial silence,
Did he greet my wondering eyes.

Straight upon the narrow pathway,
Fixed as fate, he seemed to stand,
With a widely yawning chasm,
And a wall on either hand.

“Come up hither! come up hither!”
Cried the voice that went before;
And my spirit leaped impatient
To obey the call once more.

“Let me pass, I pray thee,”
Said I in a calm and courteous tone;
But he only gazed upon me,
With a face as passionless as stone.

“Prithee, stand aside!” I said more firmly,
“For I may not stay;
I must reach the mountain-hights above me
Ere the close of day.”

But he stirred not, spake not, breathed not,
Only turned his stony eyes
Downward—to the yawning chasm,
Upward—to the distant skies.

“Wherefore,” said I,
With a slowly kindling wrath,
“Do you seek to stay my progress,
Do you stand across my path?
What am I to thee, or thou to me?
Stand aside, or prithee, sirrah,
Which is stronger we shall shortly see.

Like a statue did he stand—the same.
Then my smothered wrath waxed hotter;
“Demon! speak thy name and tell thine errand!”
Cried I, with a loudly ringing shout;
And his cold lips parted, as he answered,
“I am Doubt.