The Second Book of Modern Verse | Page 8

and laugh and have no name at all. Only if God should speak to me then I would heed the call.?And I forget the curious ways, the alien looks of men,?For even as it was of old, so is it now again.
Still every angel looks the same and all the folks are there That are so bounteous and mild and have not any care.?But kindest to me is the one I would most choose to be.?She is so beautiful and sheds such loving looks on me.
She is so beautiful -- and lays her cheek against my own.?Back -- in the world -- they all will say, "How happy you have grown." Her breath is sweet about my eyes and she has healed me now, Though I be scarred with grief, I keep her kiss upon my brow.
All day, sweet land, I fight for thee outside the goodly wall, And 'twixt my breathless wounds I have no sight of thee at all! And sometimes I forget thy looks and what thy ways may be!?I have denied thou wert at all -- yet still I fight for thee.
Four Sonnets. [Thomas S. Jones, Jr.]
I
Sanctuary
How may one hold these days of wonderment?And bind them into stillness with a thong,?Ere as a fleeting dream they pass along?Into the waste of lovely things forspent;?How may one keep what the Great Powers have sent,?The prayers fulfilled more beautiful and strong?Than any thought could fashion into song?Of all the rarest harmonies inblent?
There is an Altar where they may be laid?And sealed in Faith within Its sacred care, --?Here they are safe unto the very end;?For these are of the things that never fade,?Brought from the City that is built four-square,?The gifts of Him who is the Perfect Friend.
II
The Last Spring
The first glad token of the Spring is here?That bears each time one miracle the more,?For in the sunlight is the golden ore,?The joyous promise of a waking year;?And in that promise all clouds disappear?And youth itself comes back as once before,?For only dreams are real in April's store?When buds are bursting and the skies are clear.
Fair Season! at your touch the sleeping land?Quickens to rapture, and a rosy flame?Is the old signal of awakening;?Thus in a mystery I understand?The deepest meaning of your lovely name --?How it will be in that perpetual Spring!
III
The Garden
Behind the pinions of the Seraphim,?Whose wings flame out upon the swinging spheres,?There is a Voice that speaks the numbered years?Until that Day when all comes back to Him;?Behind the faces of the Cherubim,?Whose smiles of love are seen through broken tears,?There is a Face that every creature fears,?The Face of Love no veil may ever dim.
O Angels of Glad Laughter and of Song,?Your voices sound so near, the little wall?Can scarcely hide the trees that bend and nod;?Unbar the gate, for you have waited long?To show the Garden that was made for all, --?Where all is safe beneath the Smile of God.
IV
The Path of the Stars
Down through the spheres that chant the Name of One?Who is the Law of Beauty and of Light?He came, and as He came the waiting Night?Shook with the gladness of a Day begun;?And as He came, He said: Thy Will Be Done?On Earth; and all His vibrant Words were white?And glistering with silver, and their might?Was of the glory of a rising sun.
Unto the Stars sang out His Living Words?White and with silver, and their rhythmic sound?Was as a mighty symphony unfurled;?And back from out the Stars like homing birds?They fell in love upon the sleeping ground?And were forever in a wakened world.
Chanson of the Bells of Oseney. [Cale Young Rice]
Thirteenth Century
The bells of Oseney?(Hautclere, Doucement, Austyn)?Chant sweetly every day,?And sadly, for our sin.?The bells of Oseney?(John, Gabriel, Marie)?Chant lowly,
Chant slowly,?Chant wistfully and holy?Of Christ, our Paladin.
Hautclere chants to the East?(His tongue is silvery high),?And Austyn like a priest?Sends west a weighty cry.?But Doucement set between?(Like an appeasive nun)?Chants cheerly,
Chants clearly,?As if Christ heard her nearly,?A plea to every sky.
A plea that John takes up?(He is the evangelist)?Till Gabriel's angel cup?Pours sound to sun or mist.?And last of all Marie?(The virgin-voice of God)?Peals purely,
Demurely,?And with a tone so surely?Divine, that all must hear.
The bells of Oseney?(Doucement, Austyn, Hautclere)?Pour ever day by day?Their peals on the rapt air;?And with their mellow mates?(John, Gabriel, Marie)?Tell slowly,
Tell lowly,?Of Christ the High and Holy,?Who makes the whole world fair.
Poets. [Joyce Kilmer]
Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells?That the wind sways above a ruined shrine.?Vainer his voice in whom no longer dwells?Hunger that craves immortal Bread and Wine.
Light songs we breathe that perish with our breath?Out of our lips that have not kissed the rod.?They shall not live who have not tasted death.?They only sing who are struck dumb by God.
Acceptance. [Willard Wattles]
I cannot think nor reason,?I only know he came?With hands and feet