Easter-Day

I.     How very hard it is to be     A Christian! Hard for you and me,     Not the mere task of making real     That duty up to its ideal,     Effecting thus complete and whole,     A purpose or the human soul     For that is always hard to do;     But hard, I mean, for me and you     To realise it, more or less,     With even the moderate success     Which commonly repays our strife     To carry out the aims of life.     This aim is greater, you may say,     And so more arduous every way.     But the importance of the fruits     Still proves to man, in all pursuits,     Proportional encouragement.     Then, what if it be Gods intent     That labour to this one result     Shall seem unduly difficult?     Ah, thats a question in the dark     And the sole thing that I remark     Upon the difficulty, this;     We do not see it where it is,     At the beginning of the race:     As we proceed, it shifts its place,     And where we looked for palms to fall,     We find the tugs to come,thats all. II.     At first you say, The whole, or chief     Of difficulties, is Belief.     Could I believe once thoroughly,     The rest were simple. What? Am I     An idiot, do you think? A beast?     Prove to me only that the least     Command of God is Gods indeed,     And what injunction shall I need     To pay obedience? Death so nigh     When time must end, eternity     Begin,and cannot I compute?     Weigh loss and gain together? suit     My actions to the balance drawn,     And give my body to be sawn     Asunder, hacked in pieces, tied     To horses, stoned, burned, crucified,     Like any martyr of the list?     How gladly,if I made acquist,     Through the brief minutes fierce annoy,     Of Gods eternity of joy. III.     And certainly you name the point     Whereon all turns: for could you joint     This flexile finite life once tight     Into the fixed and infinite,     You, safe inside, would spurn whats out,     With carelessness enough, no doubt     Would spurn mere life: but where time brings     To their next stage your reasonings,     Your eyes, late wide, begin to wink     Nor see the path so well, I think. IV.     You say, Faith may be, one agrees,     A touchstone for Gods purposes,     Even as ourselves conceive of them.     Could He acquit us or condemn     For holding what no hand can loose,     Rejecting when we cant but choose?     As well award the victors wreath     To whosoever should take breath     Duly each minute while he lived     Grant Heaven, because a man contrived     To see the sunlight every day     He walked forth on the public way.     You must mix some uncertainty     With faith, if you would have faith be.     Why, what but faith, do we abhor     And idolize each other for     Faith in our evil, or our good,     Which is or is not understood     Aright by those we love or those     We hate, thence called our friends or foes?     Your mistress saw your spirits grace,     When, turning from the ugly face,     I found belief in it too hard;     And both of us have our reward.     Yet here a doubt peeps: well for us     Weak beings, to go using thus     A touchstone for our little ends,     And try with faith the foes and friends;     But God, bethink you! I would fain     Conceive of the Creators reign     As based upon exacter laws     Than creatures build by with applause.     In all Gods acts(as Plato cries     He doth)He should geometrise.     Whence, I desiderate . . . V.     I see!     You would grow smoothly as a tree.     Soar heavenward, straightly up like fire     God bless youtheres your world entire     Needing no faith, if you think fit;     Go there, walk up and down in it!     The whole creation travails, groans     Contrive your music from its moans,     Without or let or hindrance, friend!     Thats an old story, and its end     As oldyou come back (be sincere)     With every question you put here     (Here where there once was, and is still,     We think, a living oracle,     Whose answers you stood carping at)     This time flung back unanswered flat,     Besides, perhaps, as many more     As those that drove you out before,     Now added, where was little need!     Questions impossible, indeed,     To us who sate still, all and each     Persuaded that our earth had speech     Of Gods, writ down, no matter if     In cursive type or hieroglyph,     Which one fact frees us from the yoke     Of guessing why He never spoke.     You come back in no better plight     Than when you left us,am I right? VI.     So the old process, I conclude,     Goes on, the reasonings pursued     Further. You own. Tis well averred,     A scientific faiths absurd,     Frustrates the very end twas meant     To serve: so I would rest content     With a mere probability,     But, probable; the chance must lie     Clear on one side,lie all in rough,     So long as there is just enough     To pin my faith to, though it hap     Only at points: from gap to gap     One hangs up a huge curtain so,     Grandly, nor seeks to have it go     Foldless and flat along the wall:     What care I that some interval     Of life less plainly might depend     On God? Id hang there to the end;     And thus I should not find it hard     To be a Christian and debarred     From trailing on the earth, till furled     Away by death!Renounce the world?     Were that a mighty hardship? Plan     A pleasant life, and straight some man     Beside you, with, if he thought fit,     Abundant means to compass it,     Shall turn deliberate aside     To try and live as, if you tried     You clearly might, yet most despise.     One friend of mine wears out his eyes,     Slighting the stupid joys of sense,     In patient hope that, ten years hence,     Somewhat completer he may see     His list of lepidopter:     While just the other who most laughs     At him, above all epitaphs     Aspires to have his tomb describe     Himself as Sole among the tribe     Of snuffbox-fanciers, who possessed     A Grignon with the Regents crest.     So that, subduing as you want,     Whatever stands predominant     Among my earthly appetites     For tastes, and smells, and sounds, and sights,     I shall be doing that alone,     To gain a palm-branch and a throne,     Which fifty people undertake     To do, and gladly, for the sake     Of giving a Semitic guess,     Or playing pawns at blindfold chess. VII.     Good! and the next thing is,look round     For evidence enough. Tis found,     No doubt: as is your sort of mind,     So is your sort of searchyoull find     What you desire, and thats to be     A Christian: what says History?     How comforting a point it were     To find some mummy-scrap declare     There lived a Moses! Better still,     Prove Jonahs whale translatable     Into some quicksand of the seas,     Isle, cavern, rock, or what you please,     That Faith might clap her wings and crow     From such an eminence! Or, no     The Human Hearts best; you prefer     Making that prove the minister     To truth; you probe its wants and needs     And hopes and fears, then try what creeds     Meet these most aptly,resolute     That Faith plucks such substantial fruit     Wherever these two correspond,     She little needs to look beyond,     To puzzle out what Orpheus was,     Or Dionysius Zagrias.     Youll find sufficient, as I say,     To satisfy you either way.     You wanted to believe; your pains     Are crownedyou do: and what remains?     Renounce the world!Ah, were it done     By merely cutting one by one     Your limbs off, with your wise head last,     How easy were it!how soon past,     If once in the believing mood!     Such is mans usual gratitude,     Such thanks to God do we return,     For not exacting that we spurn     A single gift of life, forego     One real gain,only taste them so     With gravity and temperance,     That those mild virtues may enhance     Such pleasures, rather than abstract     Last spice of which, will be the fact     Of love discerned in every gift;     While, when the scene of life shall shift,     And the gay heart be taught to ache,     As sorrows and privations take     The place of joy,the thing that seems     Mere misery, under human schemes,     Becomes, regarded by the light     Of Love, as very near, or quite     As good a gift as joy before.     So plain is it that all the more     Gods dispensations merciful,     More pettishly we try and cull     Briars, thistles, from our private plot,     To mar Gods ground where thorns are not! VIII.     Do you say this, or I?Oh, you!     Then, what, my friend,(so I pursue     Our parley)you indeed opine     That the Eternal and Divine     Did, eighteen centuries ago,     In very truth . . . Enough! you know     The all-stupendous tale,that Birth,     That Life, that Death! And all, the earth     Shuddered at,all, the heavens grew black     Rather than see; all, Natures rack     And throe at dissolutions brink     Attested,it took place, you think,     Only to give our joys a zest,     And prove our sorrows for the best?     We differ, then! Were I, still pale     And heartstruck at the dreadful tale,     Waiting to hear Gods voice declare     What horror followed for my share,     As implicated in the deed,     Apart from other sins,concede     That if He blacked out in a blot     My brief lifes pleasantness, twere not     So very disproportionate!     Or there might be another fate     I certainly could understand     (If fancies were the thing in hand)     How God might save, at that Days price,     The impure in their impurities,     Leave formal licence and complete     To choose the fair, and pick the sweet.     But there be certain words, broad, plain,     Uttered again and yet again,     Hard to mistake, to overgloss     Announcing this worlds gain for loss,     And bidding us reject the same:     The whole world lieth (they proclaim)     In wickedness,come out of it!     Turn a deaf ear, if you think fit,     But I who thrill through every nerve     At thought of what deaf ears deserve,     How do you counsel in the case? IX.     Id take, by all means, in your place,     The safe side, since it so appears:     Deny myself, a few brief years,     The natural pleasure, leave the fruit     Or cut the plant up by the root.     Remember what a martyr said     On the rude tablet overhead     I was born sickly, poor and mean,     A slave: no misery could screen     The holders of the pearl of price     From Csars envy; therefore twice     I fought with beasts, and three times saw     My children suffer by his law     At last my own release was earned:     I was some time in being burned,     But at the close a Hand came through     The fire above my head, and drew     My soul to Christ, whom now I see.     Sergius, a brother, writes for me     This testimony on the wall     For me, I have forgot it all.     You say right; this were not so hard!     And since one nowise is debarred     From this, why not escape some sins     By such a method? X.     Then begins     To the old point, revulsion new     (For tis just this, I bring you to)     If after all we should mistake,     And so renounce life for the sake     Of death and nothing else? You hear     Our friends we jeered at, send the jeer     Back to ourselves with good effect     There were my beetles to collect!     My boxa trifle, I confess,     But here I hold it, neertheless!     Poor idiots, (let us pluck up heart     And answer) we, the better part     Have chosen, though twere only hope,     Nor envy moles like you that grope     Amid your veritable muck,     More than the grasshoppers would truck,     For yours, their passionate life away,     That spends itself in leaps all day     To reach the sun, you want the eyes     To see, as they the wings to rise     And match the noble hearts of them!     So, the contemner we contemn,     And, when doubt strikes us, so, we ward     Its stroke off, caught upon our guard,     Not struck enough to overturn     Our faith, but shake itmake us learn     What I began with, and, I wis,     End, having proved,how hard it is     To be a Christian! XI.     Proved, or not,     Howeer you wis, small thanks, I wot,     You get of mine, for taking pains     To make it hard to me. Who gains     By that, I wonder? Here I live     In trusting ease; and do you drive     At causing me to lose what most     Yourself would mourn for when twas lost? XII.     But, do you see, my friend, that thus     You leave St. Paul for schylus?     Who made his Titans arch-device     The giving men blind hopes to spice     The meal of life with, else devoured     In bitter haste, while lo! Death loured     Before them at the platters edge!     If faith should be, as we allege,     Quite other than a condiment     To heighten flavors with, or meant     (Like that brave curry of his Grace)     To take at need the victuals place?     If having dined you would digest     Besides, and turning to your rest     Should find instead . . . XIII.     Now, you shall see     And judge if a mere foppery     Pricks on my speaking! I resolve     To utter . . . yes, it shall devolve     On you to hear as solemn, strange     And dread a thing as in the range     Of facts,or fancies, if God will     Eer happened to our kind! I still     Stand in the cloud, and while it wraps     My face, ought not to speak, perhaps;     Seeing that as I carry through     My purpose, if my words in you     Find veritable listeners,     My story, reasons self avers     Must needs be falsethe happy chance!     While, if each human countenance     I meet in London streets all day,     Be what I fear,my warnings fray     No one, and no one they convert,     And no one helps me to assert     How hard it is to really be     A Christian, and in vacancy     I pour this story! XIV.     I commence     By trying to inform you, whence     It comes that every Easter-night     As now, I sit up, watch, till light     Shall break, those chimney-stacks and roofs     Give, through my window-pane, grey proofs     That Easter-day is breaking slow.     On such a night, three years ago,     It chanced that I had cause to cross     The common, where the chapel was,     Our friend spoke of, the other day     Youve not forgotten, I dare say.     I fell to musing of the time     So close, the blessed matin-prime     All hearts leap up at, in some guise     One could not well do otherwise.     Insensibly my thoughts were bent     Toward the main point; I overwent     Much the same ground of reasoning     As you and I just now: one thing     Remained, howeverone that tasked     My soul to answer; and I asked,     Fairly and frankly, what might be     That History, that Faith, to me     Me therenot me, in some domain     Built up and peopled by my brain,     Weighing its merits as one weighs     Mere theories for blame or praise,     The Kingcraft of the Lucumons,     Or Fouriers scheme, its pros and cons,     But as my faith, or none at all.     How were my case, now, should I fall     Dead here, this minutedo I lie     Faithful or faithless?Note that I     Inclined thus ever!little prone     For instance, when I slept alone     In childhood, to go calm to sleep     And leave a closet where might keep     His watch perdue some murderer     Waiting till twelve oclock to stir,     As good, authentic legends tell     He mightBut how improbable!     How little likely to deserve     The pains and trial to the nerve     Of thrusting head into the dark,     Urged my old nurse, and bade me mark     Besides, that, should the dreadful scout     Really lie hid there, to leap out     At first turn of the rusty key,     It were small gain that she could see     In being killed upon the floor     And losing one nights sleep the more.     I tell you, I would always burst     The door ope, know my fate at first.     This time, indeed, the closet penned     No such assassin: but a friend     Rather, peeped out to guard me, fit     For counsel, Common Sense, to-wit,     Who said a good deal that might pass,     Heartening, impartial too, it was,     Judge else: For, soberly now,who     Should be a Christian if not you?     (Hear how he smoothed me down). One takes     A whole life, sees what course it makes     Mainly, and not by fits and starts     In spite of stoppage which imparts     Fresh value to the general speed:     A life, with none, would fly indeed:     Your progressing is slower-right!     We deal with progressing, not flight.     Through baffling senses passionate,     Fancies as restless,with a freight     Of knowledge cumbersome enough     To sink your ship when waves grow rough,     Not serve as ballast in the hold,     I find, mid dangers manifold,     The good bark answers to the helm     Where Faith sits, easier to oerwhelm     Than some stout peasants heavenly guide,     Whose hard head could not, if it tried,     Conceive a doubt, or understand     How senses hornier than his hand     Should tice the Christian off, his guard     More happy! But shall we award     Less honour to the hull, which, dogged     By storms, a mere wreck, waterlogged,     Masts by the board, and bulwarks gone,     And stanchions going, yet bears on,     Than to mere life-boats, built to save,     And triumph oer the breaking wave?     Make perfect your good ship as these,     And what were her performances!     I addedWould the ship reached home!     I wish indeed Gods kingdom come     The day when I shall see appear     His bidding, as my duty, clear     From doubt! And it shall dawn, that day,     Some future season; Easter may     Prove, not impossibly, the time     Yes, that were strikingfates would chime     So aptly! Easter-morn, to bring     The Judgment!deeper in the Spring     Than now, however, when theres snow     Capping the hills; for earth must show     All signs of meaning to pursue     Her tasks as she was wont to do     The lark, as taken by surprise     As we ourselves, shall recognise     Sudden the end: for suddenly     It comesthe dreadfulness must be     In thatall warrants the belief     At night it cometh like a thief.     I fancy why the trumpet blows;     Plainly, to wake one. From repose     We shall start up, at last awake     From life, that insane dream we take     For waking now, because it seems.     And as, when now we wake from dreams,     We say, while we recall them, Fool,     To let the chance slip, linger cool     When such adventure offered! Just     A bridge to cross, a dwarf to thrust     Aside, a wicked mage to stab     And, lo ye, I had kissed Queen Mab,     So shall we marvel why we grudged     Our labours here, and idly judged     Of Heaven, we might have gained, but lose!     Lose? Talk of loss, and I refuse     To plead at all! I speak no worse     Nor better than my ancient nurse     When she would tell me in my youth     I well deserved that shapes uncouth     Should fright and tease me in my sleep     Why did I not in memory keep     Her precept for the evils cure?     Pinch your own arm, boy, and be sure     Youll wake forthwith! XV.     And as I said     This nonsense, throwing back my head     With light complacent laugh, I found     Suddenly all the midnight round     One fire. The dome of Heaven had stood     As made up of a multitude     Of handbreadth cloudlets, one vast rack     Of ripples infinite and black,     From sky to sky. Sudden there went,     Like horror and astonishment,     A fierce vindictive scribble of red     Quick flame across, as if one said     (The angry scribe of Judgment) There     Burn it! And straight I was aware     That the whole ribwork round, minute     Cloud touching cloud beyond compute,     Was tinted each with its own spot     Of burning at the core, till clot     Jammed against clot, and spilt its fire     Over all heaven, which gan suspire     As fanned to measure equable,     As when great conflagrations kill     Night overhead, and rise and sink,     Reflected. Now the fire would shrink     And wither oft the blasted face     Of heaven, and I distinct could trace     The sharp black ridgy outlines left     Unburned like networkthen, each cleft     The fire had been sucked back into,     Regorged, and out it surging flew     Furiously, and night writhed inflamed,     Till, tolerating to be tamed     No longer, certain rays world-wide     Shot downwardly, on every side,     Caught past escape; the earth was lit;     As if a dragons nostril split     And all his famished ire oerflowed;     Then, as he winced at his Lords goad,     Back he inhaled: whereat I found     The clouds into vast pillars bound,     Based on the corners of the earth,     Propping the skies at top: a dearth     Of fire i the violet intervals,     Leaving exposed the utmost walls     Of time, about to tumble in     And end the world. XVI.     I felt begin     The Judgment-Day: to retrocede     Was too late now.In very deed,     (I uttered to myself) that Day!     The intuition burned away     All darkness from my spirit too     There, stood I, found and fixed, I knew,     Choosing the world. The choice was made     And naked and disguiseless stayed,     An unevadeable, the fact.     My brain held neertheless compact     Its senses, nor my heart declined     Its officerather, both combined     To help me in this junctureI     Lost not a second,agony     Gave boldness: there, my life had end     And my choice with itbest defend,     Applaud them! I resolved to say,     So was I framed by Thee, this way     I put to use Thy senses here!     It was so beautiful, so near,     Thy world,what could I do but choose     My part there? Nor did I refuse     To look above the transient boon     In timebut it was hard so soon     As in a short life, to give up     Such beauty: I had put the cup     Undrained of half its fullness, by;     But, to renounce it utterly,     That was too hard! Nor did the Cry     Which bade renounce it, touch my brain     Authentically deep and plain     Enough, to make my lips let go.     But Thou, who knowest all, dost know     Whether I was not, lifes brief while,     Endeavouring to reconcile     Those lipstoo tardily, alas!     To letting the dear remnant pass,     One day,some drops of earthly good     Untasted! Is it for this mood,     That Thou, whose earth delights so well,     Has made its complement a Hell? XVII.     A final belch of fire like blood,     Overbroke all, next, in one flood     Of doom. Then fire was sky, and sky     Was fire, and both, one extasy,     Then ashes. But I heard no noise     (Whatever was) because a Voice     Beside me spoke thus, All is done,     Time ends, Eternitys begun,     And thou art judged for evermore! XVIII.     I looked up; all was as before;     Of that cloud-Tophet overhead,     No trace was left: I saw instead     The common round me, and the sky     Above, stretched drear and emptily     Of life: twas the last watch of night,     Except what brings the morning quite,     When the armed angel, conscience-clear     His task nigh done, leans oer his spear     And gazes on the earth he guards,     Safe one night more through all its wards,     Till God relieve him at his post.     A dreama waking dream at most!     (I spoke out quick that I might shake     The horrid nightmare off, and wake.)     The worlds gone, yet the world is here?     Are not all things as they appear?     Is Judgment past for me alone?     And where had place the Great White Throne?     The rising of the Quick and Dead?     Where stood they, small and great? Who read     The sentence from the Opened Book?     So, by degrees, the blood forsook     My heart, and let it beat afresh:     I knew I should break through the mesh     Of horror, and breathe presently     When, lo, again, the Voice by me! XIX.     I saw . . . Oh, brother, mid far sands     The palm-tree-cinctured city stands,     Bright-white beneath, as Heaven, bright-blue,     Above it, while the years pursue     Their course, unable to abate     Its paradisal laugh at fate:     One morn,the Arab staggers blind     Oer a new tract of death, calcined     To ashes, silence, nothingness,     Striving, with dizzy wits, to guess     Whence fell the blow: what if, twixt skies     And prostrate earth, he should surprise     The imaged Vapour, head to foot.     Surveying, motionless and mute,     Its work, ere, in a whirlwind rapt,     It vanish up again?So hapt     My chance. HE stood there. Like the smoke     Pillared oer Sodom, when day broke,     I saw Him. One magnific pall     Mantled in massive fold and fall     His Dread, and coiled in snaky swathes     About His feet: nights black, that bathes     All else, broke, grizzled with despair,     Against the soul of blackness there.     A gesture told the mood within     That wrapped right hand which based the chin,     That intense meditation fixed     On His procedure,pity mixed     With the fulfilment of decree.     Motionless, thus, He spoke to me,     Who fell before His feet, a mass,     No man now. XX.     All is come to pass.     Such shows are over for each soul     They had respect to. In the roll     Of Judgment which convinced mankind     Of sin, stood many, bold and blind,     Terror must burn the truth into:     Their fate for them!thou hadst to do     With absolute omnipotence,     Able its judgments to dispense     To the whole race, as every one     Were its sole object: that is done:     God is, thou art,the rest is hurled     To nothingness for thee. This world,     This finite life, thou hast preferred,     In disbelief of Gods own word,     To Heaven and to Infinity.     Here, the probation was for thee,     To show thy soul the earthly mixed     With Heavenly, it must choose betwixt.     The earthly joys lay palpable,     A taint, in each, distinct as well;     The Heavenly flitted, faint and rare,     Above them, but as truly were     Taintless, so in their nature, best.     Thy choice was earth: thou didst attest     Twas fitter spirit should subserve     The flesh, than flesh refine to nerve     Beneath the spirits play. Advance     No claim to their inheritance     Who chose the spirits fugitive     Brief gleams, and thought, This were to live     Indeed, if rays, completely pure     From flesh that dulls them, should endure,     Not shoot in meteor-light athwart     Our earth, to show how cold and swart     It lies beneath their fire, but stand     As stars should, destined to expand,     Prove veritable worlds, our home!     Thou saidst,Let Spirit star the dome     Of sky, that flesh may miss no peak,     No nook of earth,I shall not seek     Its service further! Thou art shut     Out of the Heaven of Spirit; glut     Thy sense upon the world: tis thine     For evertake it! XXI.     How? Is mine,     The world? (I cried, while my soul broke     Out in a transport) Hast thou spoke     Plainly in that? Earths exquisite     Treasures of wonder and delight,     For me? XXII.     The austere Voice returned,     So soon made happy? Hadst thou learned     What God accounteth happiness,     Thou wouldst not find it hard to guess     What Hell may be His punishment     For those who doubt if God invent     Better than they. Let such men rest     Content with what they judged the best.     Let the Unjust usurp at will:     The Filthy shall be filthy still:     Miser, there waits the gold for thee!     Hater, indulge thine enmity!     And thou, whose heaven, self-ordained,     Was to enjoy earth unrestrained,     Do it! Take all the ancient show!     The woods shall wave, the rivers flow,     And men apparently pursue     Their works, as they were wont to do,     While living in probation yet:     I promise not thou shalt forget     The past, now gone to its account,     But leave thee with the old amount     Of faculties, nor less nor more,     Unvisited, as heretofore,     By Gods free spirit, that makes an end.     So, once more, take thy world; expend     Eternity upon its shows,     Flung thee as freely as one rose     Out of a summers opulence,     Over the Eden-barrier whence     Thou art excluded, Knock in vain! XXIII.     I sate up. All was still again.     I breathed free: to my heart, back fled     The warmth. But, all the world! (I said)     I stooped and picked a leaf of fern,     And recollected I might learn     From books, how many myriad sorts     Exist, if one may trust reports,     Each as distinct and beautiful     As this, the very first I cull.     Think, from the first leaf to the last!     Conceive, then, earths resources! Vast     Exhaustless beauty, endless change     Of wonder! and this foot shall range     Alps, Andes,and this eye devour     The bee-bird and the aloe-flower? XXIV.     And the Voice, Welcome so to rate     The arras-folds that variegate     The earth, Gods antechamber, well!     The wise, who waited there, could tell     By these, what royalties in store     Lay one step past the entrance-door.     For whom, was reckoned, not too much,     This lifes munificence? For such     As thou,a race, whereof not one     Was able, in a million,     To feel that any marvel lay     In objects round his feet all day;     Nor one, in many millions more,     Willing, if able, to explore     The secreter, minuter charm!     Brave souls, a fern-leaf could disarm     Of power to cope with Gods intent,     Or scared if the South Firmament     With North-fire did its wings refledge!     All partial beauty was a pledge     Of beauty in its plenitude:     But since the pledge sufficed thy mood,     Retain itplenitude be theirs     Who looked above! XXV.     Though sharp despairs     Shot through me, I held up, bore on.     What is it though my trust is gone     From natural things? Henceforth my part     Be less with Nature than with Art!     For Art supplants, gives mainly worth     To Nature; tis Man stamps the earth     And I will seek his impress, seek     The statuary of the Greek,     Italys paintingthere my choice     Shall fix! XXVI.     Obtain it, said the Voice.     The one form with its single act,     Which sculptors laboured to abstract,     The one face, painters tried to draw,     With its one look, from throngs they saw!     And that perfection in their soul,     These only hinted at? The whole,     They were but parts of? What each laid     His claim to glory on?afraid     His fellow-men should give him rank     By the poor tentatives he shrank     Smitten at heart from, all the more,     That gazers pressed in to adore!     Shall I be judged by only these?     If such his souls capacities,     Even while he trod the earth,think, now     What pomp in Buonarottis brow,     With its new palace-brain where dwells     Superb the soul, unvexed by cells     That crumbled with the transient clay!     What visions will his right hands sway     Still turn to form, as still they burst     Upon him? How will he quench thirst,     Titanically infantine,     Laid at the breast of the Divine?     Does it confound thee,this first page     Emblazoning mans heritage?     Can this alone absorb thy sight,     As if they were not infinite,     Like the omnipotence which tasks     Itself, to furnish all that asks     The soul it means to satiate?     What was the world, the starry state     Of the broad skies,what, all displays     Of power and beauty intermixed,     Which now thy soul is chained betwixt,     What, else, than needful furniture     For lifes first stage? Gods work, be sure,     No more spreads wasted, than falls scant:     He filled, did not exceed, Mans want     Of beauty in this life. And pass     Lifes line,and what has earth to do,     Its utmost beautys appanage,     With the requirements of next stage?     Did God pronounce earth very good?     Needs must it be, while understood     For mans preparatory state;     Nothing to heighten nor abate:     But transfer the completeness here,     To serve a new states use,and drear     Deficiency gapes every side!     The good, tried once, were bad, retried.     See the enwrapping rocky niche,     Sufficient for the sleep, in which     The lizard breathes for ages safe:     Split the mouldand as this would chafe     The creatures new world-widened sense,     One minute after you dispense     The thousand sounds and sights that broke     In, on him, at the chisels stroke,     So, in Gods eyes, the earths first stuff     Was, neither more nor less, enough     To house mans soul, mans need fulfil.     You reckoned it immeasurable:     So thinks the lizard of his vault!     Could God be taken in default,     Short of contrivances, by you,     Or reached, ere ready to pursue     His progress through eternity?     That chambered rock, the lizards world,     Your easy mallets blow has hurled     To nothingness for ever; so,     Has God abolished at a blow     This world, wherein his saints were pent,     Who, though, found grateful and content,     With the provision there, as thou,     Yet knew He would not disallow     Their spirits hunger, felt as well,     Unsated,not unsatable,     As Paradise gives proof.        Deride     Their choice now, thou who sitst outside! XXVII.     I cried in anguish, Mind, the mind,     So miserably cast behind,     To gain what had been wisely lost!     Oh, let me strive to make the most     Of the poor stinted soul, I nipped     Of budding wings, else well equipt     For voyage from summer isle to isle!     And though she needs must reconcile     Ambition to the life on ground,     Still, I can profit by late found     But precious knowledge. Mind is best     I will seize mind, forego the rest     And try how far my tethered strength     May crawl in this poor breadth and length.     Let me, since I can fly no more,     At least spin dervish-like about     (Till giddy rapture almost doubt     I fly) through circling sciences,     Philosophies and histories!     Should the whirl slacken there, then Verse,     Fining to music, shall asperse     Fresh and fresh fire-dew, till I strain     Intoxicate, half-break my chain!     Not joyless, though more favoured feet     Stand calm, where I want wings to beat     The floor? At least earths bond is broke! XXVIII.     Then, (sickening even while I spoke     Let me alone! No answer, pray,     To this! I know what Thou wilt say     All still is earths,to Know, as much     As Feel its truths, which if we touch     With sense or apprehend in soul,     What matter? I have reached the goal     Whereto does Knowledge serve! will burn     My eyes, too sure, at every turn!     I cannot look back now, nor stake     Bliss on the race, for runnings sake.     The goals a ruin like the rest!     And so much worse thy latter quest,     (Added the Voice) that even on earth     Whenever, in mans soul, had birth     Those intuitions, grasps of guess,     That pull the more into the less,     Making the finite comprehend     Infinity, the bard would spend     Such praise alone, upon his craft,     As, when wind-lyres obey the waft,     Goes to the craftsman who arranged     The seven strings, changed them and rechanged     Knowing it was the South that harped.     He felt his song, in singing, warped,     Distinguished his and Gods part: whence     A world of spirit as of sense     Was plain to him, yet not too plain,     Which he could traverse, not remain     A guest in:else were permanent     Heaven upon earth, its gleams were meant     To sting with hunger for the light,     Made visible in Verse, despite     The veiling weakness,-truth by means     Of fable, showing while it screens,     Since highest truth, man eer supplied,     Was ever fable on outside.     Such gleams made bright the earth an age;     Now, the whole sums his heritage!     Take up thy world, it is allowed,     Thou who hast entered in the cloud! XXIX.     Then IBehold, my spirit bleeds,     Catches no more at broken reeds,     But lilies flower those reeds above     I let the world go, and take love!     Love survives in me, albeit those     I loved are henceforth masks and shows,     Not loving men and women: still     I mind how love repaired all ill,     Cured wrong, soothed grief, made earth amends     With parents, brothers, children, friends!     Some semblance of a woman yet     With eyes to help me to forget,     Shall live with me; and I will match     Departed love with love, attach     Its fragments to my whole, nor scorn     Tho poorest of the grains of corn     I save from shipwreck on this isle,     Trusting its barrenness may smile     With happy foodful green one day,     More precious for the pains. I pray,     For love, then, only! XXX.     At the word,     The Form, I looked to have been stirred     With pity and approval, rose     Oer me, as when the headsman throws     Axe over shoulder to make end     I fell prone, letting Him expend     His wrath, while, thus, the inflicting Voice     Smote me. Is this thy final choice?     Love is the best? Tis somewhat late!     And all thou dost enumerate     Of power and beauty in the world,     The mightiness of love was curled     Inextricably round about.     Love lay within it and without,     To clasp thee,but in vain! Thy soul     Still shrunk from Him who made the whole,     Still set deliberate aside     His love!Now take love! Well betide     Thy tardy conscience! Haste to take     The show of love for the names sake,     Remembering every moment Who     Reside creating thee unto     These ends, and these for thee, was said     To undergo death in thy stead     In flesh like thine: so ran the tale.     What doubt in thee could countervail     Belief in it? Upon the ground     That in the story had been found     Too much love? How could God love so?     He who in all his works below     Adapted to the needs of man,     Made love the basis of the plan,     Did love, as was demonstrated:     While man, who was so fit instead,     To hate, as every day gave proof,     You thought man, for his kinds behoof,     Both could and would invent that scheme     Of perfect lovetwould well beseem     Cains nature thou wast wont to praise,     Not tally with Gods usual ways! XXXI.     And I cowered deprecatingly     Thou Love of God! Or let me die,     Or grant what shall seem Heaven almost!     Let me not know that all is lost,     Though lost it beleave me not tied     To this despair, this corpse-like bride!     Let that old life seem mineno more     With limitation as before,     With darkness, hunger, toil, distress:     Be all the earth a wilderness!     Only let me go on, go on,     Still hoping ever and anon     To reach one eve the Better Land! XXXII.     Then did the Form expand, expand     I knew Him through the dread disguise,     As the whole God within his eyes     Embraced me. XXXIII.     When I lived again,     The day was breaking,the grey plain     I rose from, silvered thick with dew.     Was this a vision? False or true?     Since then, three varied years are spent,     And commonly my mind is bent     To think it was a dreambe sure     A mere dream and distemperature     The last days watching: then the night,     The shock of that strange Northern Light     Set my head swimming, bred in me     A dream. And so I live, you see,     Go through the world, try, prove, reject,     Prefer, still struggling to effect     My warfare; happy that I can     Be crossed and thwarted as a man,     Not left in Gods contempt apart,     With ghastly smooth life, dead at heart,     Tame in earths paddock as her prize.     Thank God she still each method tries     To catch me, who may yet escape,     She knows, the fiend in angels shape!     Thank God, no paradise stands barred     To entry, and I find it hard     To be a Christian, as I said!     Still every now and then my head     Raised glad, sinks mournfulall grows drear     Spite of the sunshine, while I fear     And think, How dreadful to be grudged     No ease henceforth, as one thats judged,     Condemned to earth for ever, shut     From Heaven . .     But Easter-Day breaks! But     Christ rises! Mercy every way     Is infinite,and who can say?