I have done I know not what,--what have I done?

My brother's blood, my brother's soul, doth cry: And I find no defence, find no reply, No courage more to run this race I run Not knowing what I have done, have left undone; Ah me, these awful unknown hours that fly Fruitless it may be, fleeting fruitless by Rank with death-savor underneath the sun.

For what avails it that I did not know The deed I did? what profits me the plea That had I known I had not wronged him so?

Lord Jesus Christ, my G.o.d, him pity Thou; Lord, if it may be, pity also me: In judgment pity, and in death, and now.

2.

Thou Who hast borne all burdens, bear our load, Bear Thou our load whatever load it be; Our guilt, our shame, our helpless misery, Bear Thou Who only canst, O G.o.d my G.o.d.

Seek us and find us, for we cannot Thee Or seek or find or hold or cleave unto: We cannot do or undo; Lord, undo Our self-undoing, for Thine is the key Of all we are not though we might have been.

Dear Lord, if ever mercy moved Thy mind, If so be love of us can move Thee yet, If still the nail-prints in Thy Hands are seen, Remember us,--yea, how shouldst Thou forget?

Remember us for good, and seek, and find.

3.

Each soul I might have succored, may have slain, All souls shall face me at the last Appeal, That great last moment poised for woe or weal, That final moment for man's bliss or bane.

Vanity of vanities, yea all is vain Which then will not avail or help or heal: Disfeatured faces, worn-out knees that kneel, Will more avail than strength or beauty then.

Lord, by Thy Pa.s.sion,--when Thy Face was marred In sight of earth and h.e.l.l tumultuous, And Thy heart failed in Thee like melting wax, And Thy Blood dropped more precious than the nard,-- Lord, for Thy sake, not ours, supply our lacks, For Thine own sake, not ours, Christ, pity us.

THE THREAD OF LIFE.

1.

The irresponsive silence of the land, The irresponsive sounding of the sea, Speak both one message of one sense to me:-- Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand Thou too aloof bound with the flawless band Of inner solitude; we bind not thee; But who from thy self-chain shall set thee free?

What heart shall touch thy heart? what hand thy hand?-- And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek, And sometimes I remember days of old When fellowship seemed not so far to seek And all the world and I seemed much less cold, And at the rainbow's foot lay surely gold, And hope felt strong and life itself not weak.

2.

Thus am I mine own prison. Everything Around me free and sunny and at ease: Or if in shadow, in a shade of trees Which the sun kisses, where the gay birds sing And where all winds make various murmuring; Where bees are found, with honey for the bees; Where sounds are music, and where silences Are music of an unlike fashioning.

Then gaze I at the merrymaking crew, And smile a moment and a moment sigh Thinking: Why can I not rejoice with you?

But soon I put the foolish fancy by: I am not what I have nor what I do; But what I was I am, I am even I.

3.

Therefore myself is that one only thing I hold to use or waste, to keep or give; My sole possession every day I live, And still mine own despite Time's winnowing.

Ever mine own, while moons and seasons bring From crudeness ripeness mellow and sanative; Ever mine own, till Death shall ply his sieve; And still mine own, when saints break grave and sing.

And this myself as king unto my King I give, to Him Who gave Himself for me; Who gives Himself to me, and bids me sing A sweet new song of His redeemed set free; He bids me sing: O death, where is thy sting?

And sing: O grave, where is thy victory?

AN OLD-WORLD THICKET.

..."Una selva oscura."--Dante.

Awake or sleeping (for I know not which) I was or was not mazed within a wood Where every mother-bird brought up her brood Safe in some leafy niche Of oak or ash, of cypress or of beech,

Of silvery aspen trembling delicately, Of plane or warmer-tinted sycamore, Of elm that dies in secret from the core, Of ivy weak and free, Of pines, of all green lofty things that be.

Such birds they seemed as challenged each desire; Like spots of azure heaven upon the wing, Like downy emeralds that alight and sing, Like actual coals on fire, Like anything they seemed, and everything.

Such mirth they made, such warblings and such chat With tongue of music in a well-tuned beak, They seemed to speak more wisdom than we speak, To make our music flat And all our subtlest reasonings wild or weak.

Their meat was nought but flowers like b.u.t.terflies, With berries coral-colored or like gold; Their drink was only dew, which blossoms hold Deep where the honey lies; Their wings and tails were lit by sparkling eyes.

The shade wherein they revelled was a shade That danced and twinkled to the unseen sun; Branches and leaves cast shadows one by one, And all their shadows swayed In breaths of air that rustled and that played.

A sound of waters neither rose nor sank, And spread a sense of freshness through the air; It seemed not here or there, but everywhere, As if the whole earth drank, Root fathom deep and strawberry on its bank.

But I who saw such things as I have said, Was overdone with utter weariness; And walked in care, as one whom fears oppress Because above his head Death hangs, or damage, or the dearth of bread.

Each sore defeat of my defeated life Faced and outfaced me in that bitter hour; And turned to yearning palsy all my power, And all my peace to strife, Self stabbing self with keen lack-pity knife.

Sweetness of beauty moved me to despair, Stung me to anger by its mere content, Made me all lonely on that way I went, Piled care upon my care, Brimmed full my cup, and stripped me empty and bare:

For all that was but showed what all was not, But gave clear proof of what might never be; Making more dest.i.tute my poverty, And yet more blank my lot, And me much sadder by its jubilee.

Therefore I sat me down: for wherefore walk?

And closed mine eyes: for wherefore see or hear?

Alas, I had no shutter to mine ear, And could not shun the talk Of all rejoicing creatures far or near.

Without my will I hearkened and I heard (Asleep or waking, for I know not which), Till note by note the music changed its pitch; Bird ceased to answer bird, And every wind sighed softly if it stirred.

The drip of widening waters seemed to weep, All fountains sobbed and gurgled as they sprang, Somewhere a cataract cried out in its leap Sheer down a headlong steep; High over all cloud-thunders gave a clang.

Such universal sound of lamentation I heard and felt, fain not to feel or hear; Nought else there seemed but anguish far and near; Nought else but all creation Moaning and groaning wrung by pain or fear,

Shuddering in the misery of its doom: My heart then rose a rebel against light, Scouring all earth and heaven and depth and height, Ingathering wrath and gloom, Ingathering wrath to wrath and night to night.

Ah me, the bitterness of such revolt, All impotent, all hateful, and all hate, That kicks and breaks itself against the bolt Of an imprisoning fate, And vainly shakes, and cannot shake the gate.

Agony to agony, deep called to deep, Out of the deep I called of my desire; My strength was weakness and my heart was fire; Mine eyes that would not weep Or sleep, scaled height and depth, and could not sleep;

The eyes, I mean, of my rebellious soul, For still my bodily eyes were closed and dark: A random thing I seemed without a mark, Racing without a goal, Adrift upon life's sea without an ark.

More leaden than the actual self of lead Outer and inner darkness weighed on me.

The tide of anger ebbed. Then fierce and free Surged full above my head The moaning tide of helpless misery.

Why should I breathe, whose breath was but a sigh?

Why should I live, who drew such painful breath?

Oh weary work, the unanswerable why!-- Yet I, why should I die, Who had no hope in life, no hope in death?

Gra.s.ses and mosses and the fallen leaf Make peaceful bed for an indefinite term; But underneath the gra.s.s there gnaws a worm-- Haply, there gnaws a grief-- Both, haply always; not, as now, so brief.