Life Without and Life Within Part 35

There are who separate the eternal light In forms of man and woman, day and night; They cannot bear that G.o.d be essence quite.

Existence is as deep a verity: Without the dual, where is unity?

And the "I am" cannot forbear to be;

But from its primal nature forced to frame Mysteries, destinies of various name, Is forced to give what it has taught to claim.

Thus love must answer to its own unrest; The bad commands us to expect the best, And hope of its own prospects is the test.

And dost thou seek to find the one in two?

Only upon the old can build the new; The symbol which you seek is found in you.

The heart and mind, the wisdom and the will, The man and woman, must be severed still, And Christ must reconcile the good and ill.

There are to whom each symbol is a mask; The life of love is a mysterious task; They want no answer, for they would not ask.

A single thought transfuses every form; The sunny day is changed into the storm, For light is dark, hard soft, and cold is warm.

One presence fills and floods the whole serene; Nothing can be, nothing has ever been, Except the one truth that creates the scene.

Does the heart beat,--that is a seeming only; You cannot be alone, though you are lonely; The All is neutralized in the One only.

You ask _a_ faith,--they are content with faith; You ask to have,--but they reply, "IT hath."

There is no end, and there need be no path.

The day wears heavily,--why, then, ignore it; Peace is the soul's desire,--such thoughts restore it; The truth thou art,--it needs not to implore it.

_The Presence_ all thy fancies supersedes, All that is done which thou wouldst seek in deeds, _The_ wealth obliterates all seeming needs.

Both these are true, and if they are at strife, The mystery bears the one name of _Life_, That, slowly spelled, will yet compose the strife.

The men of old say, "Live twelve thousand years, And see the end of all that here appears, And Moxen[45] shall absorb thy smiles and tears."

These later men say, "Live this little day.

Believe that human nature is the way, And know both Son and Father while you pray;

And one in two, in three, and none alone, Letting you know even as you are known, Shall make the you and me eternal parts of one."

To me, our destinies seem flower and fruit Born of an ever-generating root; The other statement I cannot dispute.

But say that Love and Life eternal seem, And if eternal ties be but a dream, What is the meaning of that self-same _seem_?

Your nature craves Eternity for Truth; Eternity of Love is prayer of youth; How, without love, would have gone forth your truth?

I do not think we are deceived to grow, But that the crudest fancy, slightest show, Covers some separate truth that we may know.

In the one Truth, each separate fact is true; Eternally in one I many view, And destinies through destiny pursue.

This is _my_ tendency; but can I say That this my thought leads the true, only way?

I only know it constant leads, and I obey.

I only know one prayer--"Give me the truth, Give me that colored whiteness, ancient youth, Complex and simple, seen in joy and ruth.

Let me not by vain wishes bar my claim, Nor soothe my hunger by an empty name, Nor crucify the Son of man by hasty blame.

But in the earth and fire, water and air, Live earnestly by turns without despair, Nor seek a home till home be every where!"

A GREETING.

Thoughts which come at a call Are no better than if they came not at all; Neither flower nor fruit, Yielding no root For plant, shrub, or tree.

Thus I have not for thee One good word to say, To-day, Except that I prize thy gentle heart, Free from ambition, falsehood, or art, And thy good mind, Daily refined, By pure desire To fan the heaven-seeking fire: May it rise higher and higher; Till in thee Gentleness finds its dignity, Life flowing tranquil, pure and free, A mild, unbroken harmony.

LINES TO EDITH, ON HER BIRTHDAY.

If the same star our fates together bind, Why are we thus divided, mind from mind?

If the same law one grief to both impart, How couldst thou grieve a trusting mother's heart?

Our aspiration seeks a common aim; Why were we tempered of such differing frame?

But 'tis too late to turn this wrong to right; Too cold, too damp, too deep, has fallen the night.

And yet, the angel of my life replies, Upon that night a morning star shall rise, Fairer than that which ruled thy temporal birth, Undimmed by vapors of the dreamy earth.

It says, that, where a heart thy claim denies, Genius shall read its secret ere it flies; The earthly form may vanish from thy side, Pure love will make thee still the spirit's bride.

And thou, ungentle, yet much loving child, Whose heart still shows the "untamed haggard wild,"

A heart which justly makes the highest claim, Too easily is checked by transient blame.

Ere such an orb can ascertain its sphere, The ordeal must be various and severe; My prayer attend thee, though the feet may fly; I hear thy music in the silent sky.

LINES

WRITTEN IN HER BROTHER R. F. F.'S JOURNAL.

"Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace."--_Psalms_ x.x.xvii. 37.

The man of heart and words sincere, Who truth and justice follows still, Pursues his way with conscience clear, Unharmed by earthly care and ill.

His promises he never breaks, But sacredly to each adheres; Honor's straight path he ne'er forsakes, Though danger in the way appears.