Henry Alford

The School Of The Heart. Lesson The Fourth.

Rememberest thou that solemn eventide When last we parted? we had wandered forth Down that steep hill--path to the level moor; It was not long before the golden sun Wheeled sloping to the western mountain's brink, And presently a canopy of clouds Folded him in with curtains of deep fire-- And so he sunk, slow and majestical, Leaving a wake of glory; every bird Sung his last carol, poised upon his branch Of night--repose, and every little flower Closed in its beauties in its drooping breast. We sat upon the green marge of a stream Reed--skirted, and the fragments of faint light Leapt in and out among the yellow stalks, Or peacefully reposed within the breast Of the mid--river. Our discourse had been Of infancy and youth: the hills of fern And meadows of thick cowslips floated past Our mental vision, and a faint sweet smell Seemed half to come upon some inward sense. But we had ceased to speak, and on our ear Dwelt the last words with oft--recurring sound, Mingling most fitly with the distant fall, And the low booming of the passing dorr. I told thee, ere we parted home that night, A thousand undistinguishable fears Of heavy days to come; I mourned to see Beauty and freedom--in the daily talk Of men heard frequent, on the lips of all A constant theme, undying sounds that set The slumbering spirit of mankind on work-- That they were names alone; that the dull age Knows not their presence passing daily by, And seeks them where they dwell not; that we throw Our dowry of sweet peace unto the winds; That we have proudly sought and duly earned A desolating curse from righteous Heaven. Perchance thou art too young, and that smooth brow Built upwards through thy gently--crispèd hair, Hath not those records stampt indelibly Which Care, severe historian, writes aloft That all may read; perchance the tender blue So deep within thine eyes is all too bright And cloudless yet--perchance I spake of things By thee unheeded. Purity and light, Thy blessed chamber, thy beloved home, Brothers and sisters, and in humbler life Some chosen spirits of first thoughts and few, These are thy helpmates; all thine outward world Our wooded hills and thickly--cottaged vales; Thine inward nurture fetched from communings With the great Comforter, in stillest hours, And from the pages of that wondrous Book, Which deepens as we search, whence we may draw Waters, that spring into eternal life. As every day windeth its train along Of sunny hours chequered with passing clouds, We grow in spirit, and the holy work Of God goes forward still. Each rising morn Calls us from lightest slumbers to give thanks, And every night we weave a wreath of praise With sweeter blossoms of our rising Spring. The holy leaven works, and all the lump Ere long will penetrate: for all our life Will speed as doth a dove upon the wing; The day will seem no longer, when the sun In age sets on us, than in this our morn Seems the young dawning but an hour gone by. Dear genius of my musings, let us now Rise to the middle heaven, and thence look down On the tossing waste of cares, and from the wall Of Love's serenest temple, catch afar The beatings of the fevered heart of the world. Canst thou, bound to the chariot--path of God, Traverse the dread circumference? Canst thou Keep pace with the errant moon? or trace the star, Night after night, that wanders over heaven? Canst thou, the nursling of thy peaceful home, Look without trembling down the dizzy height, And see the flaming vapours rolled around The journey of the day--god, and far off Fringing the borders of the pendent world, Dark cloudy heaps, that love to gather gloom Even from the fields the sun hath sown with light? Come, let us rise together: and as He Whose raiment glistered on the wondrous Mount, In sweetest converse with the Sons of Light, Yet spoke of human pain, and that decease He should accomplish at Jerusalem; So take we into nearer sight of Heaven Thoughts that are born of mortal suffering; Thither ascending, where in open day Of the full shining of God's countenance Lie treasured all the secret sins of earth. As one who wandering in the western land Over a hill of golden--blossomed furze, Amid gray rocks, where the red cup--moss grows Above the straggling fern, when now with toil Of straining limbs he gains the beaconed top, Looks over into valleys wonderful, Thick--timbered valleys, with their fair church--towers, Stretched into hazy distance, till a bank Of bright blue hills with outline gently curved Stands up before the sunset; so my soul Hath gained a vantage ground, and we can see A stretch of airy prospect opening wide. Dost thou not hear, beloved, how the air Is trembling with the whisper of light wings? These are the passengers that make their road From God to men, and traffic in our hearts, With cargoes of rich grace and help divine; Repentant tears for nectar take they back, Mourning for song: and there is joy in heaven. Dost thou not see the underlying world Clad with an outer zone of brooding light, Whence, inward ever, sparkles leap and flash Like the sea--spray beneath the evening star? These are the tides of Hope, that daily fill Life's river: thus it is decreed on high. Because all light and gladness speeds away Into the dark; and from the life of man There floweth daily forth a stream of joy Into a chasm whose depth we know not of;-- Therefore the soul doth day by day demand Fresh food for strong desire; and therefore Hope, Like ever--youthful Hebé to the throng Of the immortals on Olympus' top, Stands ministering, and from her golden cup Deals sweetest potion to the thirsting soul. It sorteth well with weakness to have need To lean upon a stronger, and depend Even for each step upon another's will: It suiteth well with man's infirmity To be linked fast with on ward--looking hope, And doubt, and strong desire; to see but part Of all before it, and but now and then Gain a bright glimpse of beauty, now and then To feel a sprinkling of the pleasant spray Of the great ocean--stream of truth that laves With living floods the walls of the city of life. But wherefore doth infirmity still haunt The mournful destinies of human kind? Why, since the earth is full of beauty, lacks Her best inhabitant in his best part His rightful share apportioned? Why doth man, Sole heir of misery, walk the happy earth, Feeding on poisons, shut from perfect joy? Because the beauties of this nether world Are born, and live and die, and their reward Is, that from them one particle of bliss Makes way into the life of higher things, Nourishing that whence nourishment may flow Up to the soul of man, the holy place Of this great natural temple. The small flower That was our favourite in the happy years Of childhood, in each scheme of riper days Hath borne its part; but it hath long ago Passed into earth and laid its beauty by: And some that seem eternal,--the dark hills And thickly--timbered valleys, the great sea, The never--changing watchers of the sky, Are daily testimonies, by whose word Speaks the great Spirit to the soul of man. So that their place is finally assigned In universal being, and their rank Defined, and to what end they minister, And to that end how far. But who shall set Definite limits to the human soul, Or bound the mighty yearnings of desire Wherewith the spirit labours after truth? All natural teaching,--all the thoughts that owe Their being to the multitude of things Which crowd upon us daily from without, Go forward without labour; and when spurred By call for mightier energies, the soul Summons its hidden forces, and springs up Mail--clad in most unvanquishable might, A bright aspirant to a higher meed Of beauty and desire; thence to look up To some yet loftier spiritual throne. Because the heart of man is capable Of all degrees of purity and power; Because the purest heart is mightiest For strife with evil; therefore is the life Of man encompassed with infirmity; And therefore to the kingdom of our God Much tribulation is the beaten path. Shall miserable Man, the sport of winds And the keen breath of the eager winter air, Think condescension to bow down in woe, To court his brother dust, and lift his cries, Wafting against the thunder--thrones of Heaven The incense of his wailings? Not that power Is thereby sacrificed, or human souls Lose aught of marvellous splendour;--know ye not That he who kneels is higher than who stands? The prostrate than the upright; the opprest Than the oppressor? how more heavenly light Breaks in upon the spirit through distress? The reed that waves along the river's brink, Spearing its way into the summer air, Is not so glorious, as when laid by winds It rests upon the mirror of the flood, Gemmed with bright globes of dew; the stream that winds Through unopposing flats its teeming way, Floated with merchandise to the broad sea, We love not like the tumbling mountain linn, That hath not where to flow, breaking its path Through fragments rough, and over mossy crags, Down to the headlong cliff that tops the waves. Hast thou not marked, how close together linked Glory and Sadness walk; how never flower Were half so beautiful, did we not know That it must droop and wither? deem not then That all the anguish--cries of this great world Which reach us where we stand, find not in heaven Fit greeting; there are those who minister Outside the golden gates, to purify The sorrow and the joy that enters there; And I have heard from that bright visitant Who comes to me each night, when my small flock Is folded safe, by wearied Nature left To the great Shepherd who can never sleep, That oftentimes the pale and weeping souls Dazzle them as they pass to meet their Lord In glittering frost--robes of the purest spar Circled with many crowns; and oftentimes One who was joyous all, and in the world Shone like a star, comes drooping in a mist, And falters at the steep and narrow stair; Nor enters, till with sprinkling and with words The shadow of the earthy melt away. Hear thou a vision--fitly told thee now When we are parted from the nether world, A dream of import strange, and prophecy Which after--time shall prove. 'Twas on a night Such as my spirit loves; moonlit and calm, But veiled with amber mist, wherein there dwelt Light, clothing equally the arch of heaven. I had flown upwards on the stripping wings Of meditation through the ample sky; By the Queen--crescent, and past many a star Thronged with unsinning shapes, whose atmosphere Made clearer shining round me as I fled, Reluctantly bound onward through the vast And peopled universe: and now a light Fell on me as from some self--shining tract, Broad and uncentred: and I felt my thoughts Grew pure and wonderful, and even this flesh Into a glorious temple purified, For such a saintly soul as now it shrined Not all unfitting. And methought in sight Full opposite, a beautiful green land, In light not clear nor dark; a mellow day Shed its soft influence over hill and dale, And tenderest foliage down a hundred dells Spread over paths that wound beside the bed Of tinkling streamlets. Thickly scattered stood Elm--shaded cottages, and wreathèd smoke In bright blue curls went up, and o'er the vales That lay toward the waves, slept peacefully. 'Twas such a land as summer travellers see On Britain's western shores, who from the hills Painfully climbed, beyond the Severn sea Look over into Cambria, facing south, To Aberavon, by the stream of Taff, And old Glamorgan. --Then my fancy changed; 'Twas the third morning since my angel--guide Landed me from strange voyage; scarcely yet The search of this new home had given repose To my way--wearied eyes. Thou canst not tell How bright a morn it was; never such sun Looked on the nether earth, as now above Heaven's everlasting hills with perfect orb Rose joyous, and from every brake the birds Under the thick leaves starred with prisms of dew Crowded their mellow warbles. Shapes in white Over the lawns and by the hedge--row sides Moved glorious; all the breathings of the air Were full of joy, and every passing sound Thrilled through me like the touch of her I love. And on a sudden from an upland copse Tangled with woodbine and lithe virgin--bower, Broke forth a river of full melody, Gushing like some long reach of pouring linn In underlying valley, when the stars Are out upon the mountain. Mute I turned And listened, till the music of that voice So took my senses captive, that I stood Emptied of thought and human consciousness; Like her who from the sulphur--steaming vale Hurrying away in olden time, looked back On Admah and Zeboim, and the plain Of fruitful Sodom lately loved, and there, As in her fondness she had looked, stood fixed. ``Hither,'' it said, ``come hither, child of earth, Curb thy wild leapings of unquiet thought, And glide into the calm of hope fulfilled. Here is no sport of words, nor lying smile Of rash undowried promise, hither come, And I will show thee blest realities More bright than earthly dreams. '' As by a charm Led on, I followed, through the scented air Moving with speed of thought, till in a shade Most like to that, where in the morn of life I opened forth to thee mine inner heart When thou hadst picked thine apron full of flowers,-- I saw an angel form, serene and tall, Far lifted into blessedness of look Above our mortal state; and yet methought I knew her eyes, I knew her cast of shape: As when we see a new--acquainted face Fixed on us strangely with accustomed looks. ``Draw near,'' she said, in that same wondrous voice That filled the air of heaven, heard nigher now, Like some clear organ, when the swell of song Tempers the long--drawn music; ``let me look Into thy face, and read thine open soul. For blessed angels see not as ye see Down on the nether earth, each fleeting spark Of high desire, and each conception bold Of worthy daring, to the insight keen Of heavenly spirits hath its proper form And presence, as to thee its earthly veil:''-- And as she spoke, a flush of sudden love, Like shade athwart a sunny upland thrown, Passed on her cheek;--``Dear child, the child of tears, Thou didst not know me; scarcely had thy face Learned to acknowledge with uncertain calm (Which mother--love would fain hear called a smile) My careful ministrations, when a voice Mysterious called, first softly and scarce heard, Then loud and louder waxing--`Come away'-- Till the dread sound struck on my throbbing brain, And I was carried from thee. Ever since, In the pure summer air of this sweet land, God hath been ripening for enjoyment high My patient spirit; but thine earthly speech Hath not the signs that might disclose to thee By what enlightening, what blessed sight, These eyes have gained; or how the faithful sense, Close--leaguing with the soul, searches unchecked Things that lie hid beyond the visible blue And past the flickering stars. ``But thou mayest know Thus far, that there are many globes, as this Hung in the middle firmament, where dwell Pure spirits, ruling or obeying each The gentle course of those their shining homes, Or resting after lives of over--toil, Or from the sources, at whose distant streams They loved to drink on earth, feeding at will Their ever--new desire; some by the flood That girds the city of God, hold communing With those that pass, or muse along the brink, Or cull the lavish flowers; some that love best To dwell in conflict, on the verge extreme Sit of this tract of heaven, where night and day The various plunging of the chafèd sea Doth homage to their restless thirst of change. ``This isle of ours (to which I marvel how Thy steps have come) its own inhabitants Hath portioned: a blest tribe, who love the calm, And tend these mystic plants, and night and morn (For night and morn we mark, as on the earth, Thought not with setting or returning light, But with alternate song, and visits new Of blessed ones from God) for worship meet, Drawing the lengthened chant, and marrying The raptures of Earth's sweetest melodies To pure assurance of untroubled souls. Thou sawest, if thy way I right divine To have lain upward, for thou art not yet As one of us, and shalt return to earth, Where many valleys meet, a gulf of air, Quiet, and full of this our ether--light; Call this `the haven of Lost Hope'--for here Speed all the holy souls who left the world While Hope was young, and Promise in her bud;-- Hither they sped, and wait, till there shall sound A call to higher meed of blessedness, The second in Heaven's roll, (if we may trust The songs of the bright quires that hover round,) Next to the sainted ones, that fought the fight Against the sword, or fire, or piercing scorn, Enduring unto death. If truly rise Thoughts on my spirit, (and responses false Have seldom place in temples purified,) Thou to this island after certain days Shalt send a blest inhabitant, thyself, Or other, from the chambers of thine heart Unwilling parted, friend of hopes and fears. Weep not,''--for one large tear, born first of joy, And fully ripened by a throe of grief, Rolled on my cheek,--``Weep not, for ill thou knowst That earthly hope is like the precious ore, Rough and unseemly, till unwelcome force Crush it in sunder, and the glittering rack Refine with fire, till its calm shining face Give back the unbroken sky. Thou canst not tell How rich a dowry Sorrow gives the soul, How firm a faith, and eagle--sight of God. So mayest thou see upon the Earth at night, After a day of storms, whose sun hath set In sorrow, when the horizontal round Is hemmed by sullen clouds, there opens forth High in the zenith a clear space, in which, As in a gulf embayed, broods quietly The glory of the Moon, from underneath Her misty veil sent upwards; and the stars Far up the avenues of light disclose. '' She ceased to speak--and aught of joy or fear That might be left me from that voice divine Not long was present; for along the shade A troop of blessed children sporting past-- Oft have I mused ere now on ancient gems, And sculptured forms of godlike symmetry, And grace of pictured limbs; but never yet Saw I such beauty, nor in song attained So fair conceit, as now in light of Love Shone in my sight these little ones of Heaven. Naked they were, if that were nakedness Which clothed the spirit pure with glorious veil, The richest dress of God's own fashioning; With perfect liberty and sport of limb They gambolled by us on the summer turf, Each chasing other, and in meetings fond Twining their innocent arms, and snatching oft Kisses of playful love; and then they stood As children might have stood if children were In the first Paradise, arm over arm, Clad with a crimson glow, listening our talk, Their little breasts panting with joy and play. For there had flowed afresh from that sweet fount Words of high import, and oft questioning I dwelt upon her lips, and thus had stayed Contented ever; but the light began Slowly to wane around me, and her form Dimmer and dimmer grew, her voice more faint, Her answers rare and short;--the sporting band Of holy children last remained in sight, And parted last; and all around me then Was darkness, till our grange, and humble Church, And row of limes that eastward fence our home, Now visible against the waking dawn Came slowly into presence, and this Earth Flowed in, and loosed the avenues of sense.