A Hidden Life and Other Poems | Page 7

within him. To be good Is more than holy words or definite acts; Embodying itself unconsciously In simple forms of human helpfulness, And understanding of the need that prays. And when he read the weary tales of crime, And wretchedness, and white-faced children, sad With hunger, and neglect, and cruel words, He would walk sadly for an afternoon, With head down-bent, and pondering footstep slow; And to himself conclude: "The best I can For the great world, is, just the best I can For this my world. The influence will go In widening circles to the darksome lanes In London's self." When a philanthropist Said pompously: "With your great gifts you ought To work for the great world, not spend yourself On common labours like a common man;" He answered him: "The world is in God's hands. This part he gives to me; for which my past, Built up on loves inherited, hath made Me fittest. Neither will He let me think Primeval, godlike work too low to need, For its perfection, manhood's noblest powers And deepest knowledge, far beyond my gifts. And for the crowds of men, in whom a soul Cries through the windows of their hollow eyes For bare humanity, and leave to grow,-- Would I could help them! But all crowds are made Of individuals; and their grief, and pain, And thirst, and hunger, all are of the one, Not of the many. And the power that helps Enters the individual, and extends Thence in a thousand gentle influences To other hearts. It is not made one's own By laying hold of an allotted share Of general good divided faithfully. Now here I labour whole upon the place Where they have known me from my childhood up. I know the individual man; and he Knows me. If there is power in me to help, It goeth forth beyond the present will, Clothing itself in very common deeds Of any humble day's necessity: --I would not always consciously do good; Not always feel a helper of the men, Who make me full return for my poor deeds (Which I must do for my own highest sake, If I forgot my brethren for themselves) By human trust, and confidence of eyes That look me in the face, and hands that do My work at will--'tis more than I deserve. But in the city, with a few lame words, And a few scanty handfuls of weak coin, Misunderstood, or, at the best, unknown, I should toil on, and seldom reach the mail. And if I leave the thing that lieth next, To go and do the thing that is afar, I take the very strength out of my deed, Seeking the needy not for pure need's sake." Thus he. The world-wise schemer for the good Held his poor peace, and left him to his way.
What of the vision now? the vision fair Sent forth to meet him, when at eve he went Home from his first day's ploughing? Oft she passed Slowly on horseback, in all kinds of dreams; For much he dreamed, and loved his dreaming well. Nor woke he from such dreams with vain regret; But, saying, "I have seen that face once more," He smiled with his eyes, and rose to work. Nor did he turn aside from other maids, But loved the woman-faces and dear eyes; And sometimes thought, "One day I wed a maid, And make her mine;" but never came the maid, Or never came the hour, that he might say, "I wed this maid." And ever when he read A tale of lofty aim, or when the page Of history spoke of woman very fair, Or wondrous good, her face arose, and stayed, The face for ever of that storied page.
Meantime how fared the lady? She had wed One of those common men, who serve as ore For the gold grains to lie in. Virgin gold Lay hidden there--no richer was the dross. She went to gay assemblies, not content; For she had found no hearts, that, struck with hers, Sounded one chord. She went, and danced, or sat And listlessly conversed; or, if at home, Read the new novel, wishing all the time For something better; though she knew not what, Or how to search for it.
What had she felt, If, through the rhythmic motion of light forms, A vision, had arisen; as when, of old, The minstrel's art laid bare the seer's eye, And showed him plenteous waters in the waste? If she had seen her ploughman-lover go With his great stride across some lonely field, Beneath the dark blue vault, ablaze with stars, And lift his full eyes to earth's radiant roof In gladness that the roof was yet a floor For other feet to tread, for his, one