Classic Poem

Back from the false and unbelieving earth;
Out from the sorrows circling like a sea;
From woe to joy — from grief to chastened mirth —
True midst the false, true Wife! I come to thee.

Not as I would. The hands of love have wrought
Strange furrows early on this bended brow;
This heart, that beats with thine, it has not sought
Always the Good, as it is seeking now: —

But come I as I am, — come seeking Peace,
And those sweet eyes beam on my soul a sign:
" Still in this world, O Doubting! get increase,
Since this True Heart is married unto thine!"

" True Heart! " What words to come from tongues like ours!
True Love! yet yields it here below to dwell!
Hush, it is here, as on the mount-top flowers,
Larks in the clouds , sun-beams in prison cell.

We die not all amidst this so much dying,
Look up, dear face! look up — I see the sign;
While speaks that tongue all speaking is not lying;
Two stars there are that shine serene divine.

We die not all amidst this so much dying:
My Own! we know there is no death in this: —
White-winged Seraphs' round the Holy flying
Are next shadowed by the Death of Bliss:

We die not all amidst this so much dying,
Look up, dear face! look up — I see the sign;
While speaks that tongue all speaking is not lying;
Two stars there are that shine serene divine.

We die not all amidst this so much dying:
My Own! we know there is no death in this: —
White-winged Seraphs' round the Holy flying
Are next shadowed by the Death of Bliss:

And love we not some little in such fashion?
Less, as the earth the great sky is below —
Know we not something of that wondrous Passion
The awful Guardians of the Godhead know ? —

Know we not something of that thick-hushed Thrilling
Pervadeth, like a sword, the Universe,
Sharp, yet O gentle, — Planets, Spirits filling,
Thine eyes, True Wife! and this my humble verse?

Won'drous sharp, and yet how kindly gentle!
Lo! you star-blue it painteth golden warm!
Lo! these white limbs it clothes as with a mantle!
Lo! this war-wasted Heart it fills with calm!

For this we met: To give worth to our living,
Worth in our short Time — worth (as we pray) for ever:
Great Prophet Souls, in fiery Out-giving,
Have they not said the Love decayeth never ?

For this we met; sick, found a matchless healing, —
And so go on, two Pilgrim souls together —
Two Pilgrim-souls, each to its mate appealing,
For summer-light in wintry world weather.

Alone, unhelped True Wife, we might have traveled,
(Mayhap such Journey had not been amiss,)
But He — the God, Life's tangled web that cancelled,
Pitied us sore; for such Life gave us this.

Praise be to Him! With knees all lowly bended,
See, with one common Thought, we look above:
" Father of Hearts! alone we Pilgrims wended
But now, what change! what Miracles of Love!"