And wisely in man’s firmness be
To my drooping vine a tree.
But no; sunk, dwindled, dwarfed, and mean, beside
Her couch I sitting saw her eyes grow wide
With awe, and heard her voice move as the tide
Of steady music rich and calm
In some high cathedral psalm.
Then, as that high cathedral psalm o’erflows
The dusky, vaulted aisles, and slowly grows
A burst of harmony the hearer knows,
Her voice assailed by rage, and I
Took its purport wonderingly.
“Ah, pause for dread, before you charge in haste
The ways of fate; for how can those be traced
That in the life Omnipotent lie based?
Or earth-grown atom’s bounded soul
Grasp the universal whole?
“The more he chafes, the worse his fetter galls
The luckless captive closed in dungeon walls,
And fighting chains and stones, he fighting falls.
Nor will that wasteful immolation
Touch his lofty victor’s station.
“Woe be to him perverse, who, weak and blind,
In pride refusing to behold, shall find
The ponderous roll of circumstance will grind
His steps; and if he turn not, must
Bruise and crush him into dust.
“We are the Lord’s, not ours, His angels sing;
So you, mine own, bow meekly to your King,
And striving hard and long His grace will bring:
His voice shall through the battle cry,
When the strife is raging high.”
She fluttering paused: awhile her surging zeal
All utterance overwhelmed to mute appeal:
I felt as men who fallen in battle feel,
When far their chief’s sword, like a gem,
Points to glory not for them.
“When naked heaven is azure to your eyes,
And light shines everywhere, you can be wise;
But, when its storms in common course arise,
To you the wind but sobs and grieves
Wailing with the streaming leaves.