The Implicit Promise of Immortality.
A Poem.

“ Or questi che dall’ infima lacuna
                              
                              Dell’ universo insin qui ha vedute
                              
                              Le vite spiritali ad una ad una,
                              
                              Supplica a te per grazia di virtute
                              
                              Tanto che possa con gli occhi levarsi
                              
                              Più alto verso l’ultima salute.”
                              
                           Dante, Par. xxxiii. 22—23.
                        Friend, and it little matters if with thee1
                        
                        In shadowed vales and night’s solemnity2
                        
                        Heart has met heart, and soul with soul has known3
                        
                        A deathless kinship and one hope alone ;—4
                        
                        Or if thy dear voice by mine ears unheard5
                        
                        Has never spoken me one winged word,6
                        
                        Nor mine eyes seen thee, nor my spirit guessed7
                        
                        The answering spirit hidden in thy breast ;—8
                        
                        Known or unknown, seen once and loved for long,9
                        
                        Or only reached by this faint breath of song,10
                        
                        In thine imagined ears I pour again11
                        
                        A faltering message from the man in men,—12
                        
                        Thoughts that are born with summer, but abide13
                        
                        Past summer into sad Allhallowtide.14
                        The world without, men say, the needs within,15
                        
                        Which clash and make what we call sorrow and sin,16
                        
                        Tend to adjustment evermore, until17
                        
                        The individual and the cosmic will18
                        
                        Shall coincide, and man content and free19
                        
                        Assume at last his endless empery,20
                        
                        Seeking his Eden and his Heaven no more21
                        
                        By fabled streams behind him or before,22
                        
                        But feeling Pison with Euphrates roll23
                        
                        Round the great garden of his kingly soul.24
                        I answer that, so far, the type that springs25
                        
                        Seems like a race of strangers, not of kings,26
                        
                        Less fit for earth, not more so ;  rather say27
                        
                        Grown like the dog who when musicians play28
                        
                        Feels each false note and howls, while yet the true29
                        
                        With doubtful pleasure tremulous thrill him through,30
                        
                        Since man’s atrange thoughts confuse him, and destroy31
                        
                        With half-guessed raptures his ancestral joy.32
                        
So in the race of man a change as great33
                        
                        As from the fourfoot to the man’s estate34
                        
                        Begins unmarked, nor can our wisest say35
                        
                        To what new type slow Nature leads the way,36
                        
                        Since in their nascent stage such changes seem37
                        
                        Like a disease sometimes, sometimes a dream ;38
                        
                        Who feel them hide; so hard it is to see39
                        
                        That the real marvel, real disease, would be,40
                        
                        If while all forms of matter upward strive41
                        
                        Man were the one unchanging type alive.42
                        Meantime dim wonder on the untravelled way43
                        
                        Holds our best hearts, and palsies all our day ;44
                        
                        One looks on God, and then with eyes struck blind45
                        
                        Brings a confusing rumour to mankind ;46
                        
                        And others listen, and no work can do47
                        
                        Till they have got that God defined anew ;48
                        
                        And in the darkness some have fallen, as fell49
                        
                        To baser gods the folk of Israel,50
                        
                        When with Jehovah’s thunders heard too nigh51
                        
                        They wantoned in the shade of Sinai.52
                        Take any of the sons our Age has nursed,53
                        
                        Fed with her food and taught her best and worst ;54
                        
                        Suppose no great disaster ;  look not nigh55
                        
                        On hidden times of his extremity ;56
                        
                        But watch him like the flickering magnet stirred57
                        
                        By each imponderable look and word,58
                        
                        And think how firm a courago every day59
                        
                        He needs to bear him on life’s common way,60
                        
                        Since even at the best his spirit moves61
                        
                        Thro’ such a tourney of conflicting loves,—62
                        
                        Unwisely sought, untruly called untrue,63
                        
                        Beloved, and hated, and beloved anew ;64
                        
                        Till in the changing whirl of praise and blame65
                        
                        He feels himself the same and not the same,66
                        
                        And often, overworn and overwon,67
                        
                        Knows all a dream and wishes all were done.68
                        I know it, such an one these eyes have seen69
                        
                        About the world with his unworldly mien,70
                        
                        And often idly hopeless, often bent71
                        
                        On some tumultuous deed and vehement,72
                        
                        Because his spirit he can nowise fit73
                        
                        To the world’s ways and settled rule of it,74
                        
                        But thro’ contented thousands travels on75
                        
                        Like a sad heir in disinherison,76
                        
                        And rarely by great thought or brave emprise77
                        
                        Comes out above his life’s perplexities,78
                        
                        Looks thro’ the rifted cloudland, and sees clear79
                        
                        Fate at his feet and the high God anear.80
                        Ah let him tarry on those heights, nor dream81
                        
                        Of other founts than that Aonian stream !82
                        
                        Since short and fierce, then hated, drowned, and dim83
                        
                        Shall most men’s chosen pleasures come to him,—84
                        
                        Not made for such things, nor for long content85
                        
                        With the poor toys of this imprisonment,86
                        
                        
Ay, should he sit one afternoon beguiled87
                        
                        By some such joy as makes the wise man wild,88
                        
                        Yet if at twilight to his ears shall come89
                        
                        A distant music thro’ the city’s hum,90
                        
                        So slight a thing as this will wake again91
                        
                        The incommunicable homeless pain,92
                        
                        Until his soul so yearns to reunite93
                        
                        With her Prime Source, her Master and Delight,94
                        
                        As if some loadstone drew her, and brain and limb95
                        
                        Ached with her struggle to get through to Him.96
                        And is this then delusion ?  can it be97
                        
                        That like the rest high heaven is phantasy ?98
                        
                        Can God’s implicit promise be but one99
                        
                        Among so many visions all undone ?100
                        Nay, if on earth two souls thro’ sundering fate101
                        
                        Can save their sisterhood inviolate,102
                        
                        If dimness and deferment, time and pain,103
                        
                        Have no more lasting power upon those twain104
                        
                        Than stormy thunderclouds which, spent and done,105
                        
                        Leave grateful earth still gazing on the sun,—106
                        
                        If their divine hope gladly can forgo107
                        
                        Such nearness as this wretched flesh can know,108
                        
                        While, spite of all that even themselves may do,109
                        
                        Each by her own truth feels the other true :—110
                        
                        Faithful no less is God, who having won111
                        
                        Our spirits to His endless unison112
                        
                        Betrays not our dependence, nor can break113
                        
                        The oath unuttered which His silence spake.114
                        Therefore I will not think, as some men say,115
                        
                        That all these multitudes who love and pray116
                        
                        Perish no less, unanswered, each alone,117
                        
                        Joyless, created for a cornerstone,118
                        
                        That our sons’ sons may lead a life more fair,119
                        
                        Taught and refined by our foregone despair.120
                        Oh dreadful thought, that all our sires and we121
                        
                        Are but foundations of a race to be,—122
                        
                        Stones which one thrusts in earth, and builds thereon123
                        
                        A white delight, a Parian Parthenon,124
                        
                        And thither, long thereafter, youth and maid125
                        
                        Seek with glad brows tho alabaster shade,126
                        
                        And in processions’ pomp together bent127
                        
                        Still interchange their sweet words innocent,—128
                        
                        Not caring that those mighty columns rest129
                        
                        Each on the ruin of a human breast,—130
                        
                        That to the shrine the victor’s chariot rolls131
                        
                        Across the anguish of ten thousand souls.132
                        “ Well was it that our fathers suffered thus,”133
                        
                        I hear them say, “that all might end in us ;134
                        
                        Well was it here and there a bard should feel135
                        
                        Pains premature and hurt that none could heal ;136
                        
                        These were their preludes, thus the race began ;137
                        
                        So hard a matter was the birth of Man.”138
                        And yet these too shall pass and fade and flee,139
                        
                        And in their death shall be as vile as we,140
                        
                        
Nor much shall profit with their perfect powers141
                        
                        To have lived a so much sweeter life than ours,142
                        
                        When at the last, with all their bliss gone by,143
                        
                        Like us those glorious creatures come to die,144
                        
                        With far worse woe, far more rebellious strife145
                        
                        Those mighty spirits drink the dregs of life.146
                        Nay, by no cumulative changeful years,147
                        
                        For all our bitter harvesting of tears,148
                        
                        Shalt thou tame man, nor in his breast destroy149
                        
                        The longing for his home which deadens joy ;150
                        
                        He cannot mate here, and his cage controls151
                        
                        Safe bodies, separate and sterile souls ;152
                        
                        And wouldst thou bless the captives, thou must show153
                        
                        The wild green woods which they again shall know.154
                        Therefore have we, while night serenely fell,155
                        
                        Imparadised in twilight’s cenomel,156
                        
                        Beheld the empyrean, star on star157
                        
                        Perfecting solemn change and secular,158
                        
                        Each with slow roll and pauseless period159
                        
                        Writing the solitary thoughts of God.160
                        
                        Not blindly in such moments, not in vain,161
                        
                        The open secret flashes on the brain,162
                        
                        As if one almost guessed it, almost knew163
                        
                        Whence we have sailed and voyage whereunto ;164
                        
                        Not vainly, for albeit that hour goes by,165
                        
                        And the strange letters perish from the sky,166
                        
                        Yet learn we that a life to us is given167
                        
                        One with the cosmic spectacles of heaven,—168
                        
                        Feel the still soul, for all her questionings,169
                        
                        Parcel and part of sempiternal things ;170
                        
                        For us, for all, one overarching dome,171
                        
                        One law the order, and one God the home.172
                        Ah, but who knows in what thin form and strange,173
                        
                        Through what appalled perplexities of change,174
                        
                        Wakes the sad soul, which having once forgone175
                        
                        This earth familiar and her friends thereon176
                        
                        In interstellar void becomes a chill177
                        
                        Outlying fragment of the Master Will ;178
                        
                        So severed, so forgetting, shall not she179
                        
                        Lament, immortal, immortality ?180
                        If thou wouldst have high God thy soul assure181
                        
                        That she herself shall as herself endure,182
                        
                        Shall in no alien semblance, thine and wise,183
                        
                        Fulfil her and be young in Paradise,184
                        
                        One way I know ;  forget, forswear, disdain185
                        
                        Thine own best hopes, thine utmost loss and gain,186
                        
                        Till when at last thou scarce rememberest now187
                        
                        If on the earth be such a man as thou,188
                        
                        Nor hast one thought of self-surrender,—no,189
                        
                        For self is none remaining to forgo,190
                        
                        If ever, then shall strong persuasion fall191
                        
                        That in thy giving thou hast gained thine all,192
                        
                        Given the poor present, gained the boundless scope,193
                        
                        And kept thee virgin for the further hope.194
                        
This is the hero’s temper, and to some195
                        
                        With battle-trumpetings that hour has come,196
                        
                        With guns that thunder and with winds that fall,197
                        
                        With closing fleets and voices augural ;—198
                        
                        For some, methinks, in no less noble wise199
                        
                        Divine prevision kindles in the eyes,200
                        
                        When all base thoughts like frighted harpies flown,201
                        
                        In her own beauty leave the soul alone ;202
                        
                        When Love,—not rosy-flushed as he began,203
                        
                        But Love, still Love, the prisoned God in man,—204
                        
                        Shows his face glorious, shakes his banner free,205
                        
                        Cries like a captain for Eternity :—206
                        
                        O halcyon air across the storms of youth,207
                        
                        O trust him, he is true, he is one with Truth
                               !208
                        
                        Nay, is he Christ ?  I know not ;  no man knows209
                        
                        The right name of the heavenly Anterôs,—210
                        
                        But here is God, whatever God may be,211
                        
                        And whomsoe’er we worship, this is He.212
                        Ah, friend, I have not said it :  who shall tell213
                        
                        In wavering words the hope unspeakable ?214
                        
                        Which he who once has known will labour long215
                        
                        To set forth sweetly in persuasive song,216
                        
                        Yea, many hours with hopeless art will try217
                        
                        To save the fair thing that it shall not die,218
                        
                        Then after all despairs, and leaves to-day219
                        
                        A hidden meaning in a nameless lay.220