A Hidden Life and Other Poems | Page 6

might from them, He led him to the house.
His sister there, Whose kisses were not many, but whose eyes Were full
of watchfulness and hovering love, Set him beside the fire in the old
place, And heaped the table with best country fare. And when the night
grew deep, the father rose, And led his son (who wondered why they
went, And in the darkness made a tortuous path Through the corn-ricks)
to an old loft, above The stable where his horses rested still. Entering,
he saw some plan-pursuing hand Had been at work. The father, leading
on Across the floor, heaped up with waiting grain, Opened a door. An
unexpected light Flashed on them from a cheerful lamp and fire, That
burned alone, as in a fairy tale. And lo! a little room, white-curtained
bed, An old arm-chair, bookshelves, and writing desk, And some old
prints of deep Virgilian woods, And one a country churchyard, on the
walls. The young man stood and spoke not. The old love Seeking and
finding incarnation new, Drew from his heart, as from the earth the sun,
Warm tears. The good, the fatherly old man, Honouring in his son the
simple needs Which his own bounty had begot in him, Thus gave him
loneliness for silent thought, A simple refuge he could call his own. He
grasped his hand and shook it; said good night, And left him glad with
love. Faintly beneath, The horses stamped and drew the lengthening
chain.
Three sliding years, with gently blending change, Went round 'mid
work of hands, and brain, and heart. He laboured as before; though
when he would, With privilege, he took from hours of toil, When
nothing pressed; and read within his room, Or wandered through the
moorland to the hills; There stood upon the apex of the world, With a
great altar-stone of rock beneath, And looked into the wide abyss of
blue That roofed him round; and then, with steady foot, Descended to
the world, and worthy cares.
And on the Sunday, father, daughter, son Walked to the country church
across the fields. It was a little church, and plain, almost To ugliness,

yet lacking not a charm To him who sat there when a little boy. And the
low mounds, with long grass waving on, Were quite as solemn as great
marble tombs. And on the sunny afternoons, across This well-sown
field of death, when forth they came With the last psalm still lingering
in their hearts, He looked, and wondered where the heap would rise
That rested on the arch of his dead breast. But in the gloom and rain he
turned aside, And let the drops soak through the sinking clay-- What
mattered it to him?
And as they walked Together home, the father loved to hear The new
streams pouring from his son's clear well. The old man clung not only
to the old; Nor bowed the young man only to the new; Yet as they
walked, full often he would say, He liked not much what he had heard
that morn. He said, these men believed the past alone; Honoured those
Jewish times as they were Jews; And had no ears for this poor needy
hour, That up and down the centuries doth go, Like beggar boy that
wanders through the streets, With hand held out to any passer by; And
yet God made it, and its many cries.
He used to say: "I take the work that comes All ready to my hand. The
lever set, I grasp and heave withal. Or rather, I Love where I live, and
yield me to the will That made the needs about me. It may be I find
them nearer to my need of work Than any other choice. I would not
choose To lack a relish for the thing that God Thinks worth. Among my
own I will be good; A helper to all those that look to me. This farm is
God's, as much as yonder town; These men and maidens, kine and
horses, his; And need his laws of truth made rules of fact; Or else the
earth is not redeemed from ill." He spoke not often; but he ruled and
did. No ill was suffered there by man or beast That he could help; no
creature fled from him; And when he slew, 'twas with a sudden death,
Like God's benignant lightning. For he knew That God doth make the
beasts, and loves them well, And they are sacred. Sprung from God as
we, They are our brethren in a lower kind; And in their face he saw the
human look. They said: "Men look like different animals;" But he:
"The animals are like to men, Some one, and some another." Cruelty,
He said, would