Poems | Page 8

childhood live again; And life's fair dawn grows once more bright, While listening to the sweet refrain, Sung in the Sabbath's waning light,-- "Glory to Thee, my God, this night!"
My mother's voice, so pure and strong, My father's flute of silvery tone, The little household's strength of song, The childish treble of my own,-- I hear them once more, but ... alone!
Sweet obligato to some hymn Whose words those vanished tones recall, Float o'er me, when earth's scenes grow dim, And life's last, lingering echoes fall, Till silence settles over all!

BEFORE A STATUE OF BUDDHA
O Buddha, of the mystic smile And downcast, dreamful eyes, To whom unnumbered sacred shrines And gilded statues rise,
Whose fanes are filled with worshippers, Whose hallowed name is sung By myriads of the human race In every Eastern tongue,
What means thy sweet serenity? Our planet, as it rolls, Sweeps through the starry universe A mass of burdened souls,
Still agonized and pitiful, Despite the countless years That man has spent in wandering Through paths of blood and tears!
O Lord of love and sympathy For all created life, How canst thou view thus placidly The world's incessant strife,
The misery and massacre Of war's destructive train, The martyrdom of animals, The tragedy of pain,
The infamous brutalities To helpless children shown, The pathos of whose joyless lives Might melt a heart of stone?
Preeminently merciful, Does not thy spirit long To guard from inhumanity The weak against the strong?
Thou biddest us deal tenderly With every breathing-thing,-- The horse that drags the heavy load, The bird upon the wing,
The flocks along the riverside, The cattle on the lea, And every living denizen Of earth and air and sea;
Yet daily in the shambles A sea of blood is spilled, And man is nourished chiefly From beasts that he has killed!
And hunters still find happiness In seeing, red with wounds, A sobbing deer, with liquid eyes, Dragged down by yelping hounds!
What is the real significance Of thine unchanging smile? Hast thou the secret consciousness That grief is not worth while?
That sorrow is the consequence Of former lives of sin,-- The spur that goads us on and up A nobler life to win?
That pain is as impermanent As shadows on the hills, And that Nirvana's blessedness Will cure all mortal ills?
But agony is agony, And small is the relief If, measured with eternity, Life's anguish be but brief.
To hearts that break with misery, To every tortured frame The present pain is paramount, Nirvana but a name.
Moreover, why should former lives Bequeath their weight of woe, If with it comes no memory To guide us, as we go?
If o'er the dark, prenatal void No mental bridge be cast, No thread, however frail, to link The present to the past?
Still silent and dispassionate! Ah, would that I might find The key to the serenity That fills thy lofty mind!
Thou hast a joy we do not feel, A light we cannot see; Injustice, sin, and wretchedness No longer sadden thee;
No doubt to thy sublimer gaze Life's mystery grows plain, As finally full recompense Atones for earthly pain.

THE PILLARS OF HERCULES
Here ends at last the Inland Sea! Still seems its outlet, as of yore, The anteroom of Mystery, As, through its westward-facing door, I see the vast Atlantic lie In splendor 'neath a sunset sky.
Above its distant, glittering rim Streams o'er the waves a flood of gold, To gild the mountains, bare and grim, Which guard this exit, as of old,-- The sombre sentries of two seas, The Pillars reared by Hercules;--
Gibraltar,--on the northern shore, By conquering Moors once proudly trod,-- And, to the south a league or more, Huge Abyla, the "Mount of God", Whence burdened Atlas watched with ease The Gardens of Hesperides.
How many slow-paced centuries passed, Before brave sailors dared to creep Beyond the gloom these monsters cast, And venture on the unknown deep, At last resolving to defy The "God-established" termini!
Yet no fierce gods opposed their path; No lurid bolt or arrow sped To crush them with celestial wrath, And number them among the dead; The dreadful Pillars proved as tame As other rocks of lesser fame.
Hence, when before them stretched the sea, Majestic, limitless and clear, A rapturous sense of being free Dispelled all vestiges of fear The longed-for ocean to explore From pole to pole, from shore to shore.
Thus all men learn the God they dread Is kinder than they had supposed, And that, not God, but Man hath said,-- "The door to freedom must be closed!" Once past that door, with broadened view, They find Him better than they knew.
Meanwhile, along the sunlit strait My ship glides toward the saffron west, Beyond the old Phenician gate To ocean's gently heaving breast, Whence, on the ever-freshening breeze, There greet my spirit words like these;--
Sail bravely on! the morning light Shall find thee far