The Poems of Henry Van Dyke Part 10

"Hear me, O Thou hidden Master! Thou hast sent a word to me; It is written--Thy commandment--I have kept it faithfully.

"Thou hast bid me leave the visions of the solitary life, Bear my part in human labour, take my share in human strife.

"I have done Thy bidding, Master; raised the rock and felled the tree, Swung the axe and plied the hammer, working every day for Thee.

"Once it seemed I saw Thy presence through the bending palm-leaves gleam; Once upon the flowing water--Nay, I know not; 'twas a dream!

"This I know: Thou hast been near me: more than this I dare not ask.

Though I see Thee not, I love Thee. Let me do Thy humblest task!"

Through the dimness of the temple slowly dawned a mystic light; There the Master stood in glory, manifest to mortal sight:

Hands that bore the mark of labour, brow that bore the print of care; Hands of power, divinely tender; brow of light, divinely fair.

"Hearken, good and faithful servant, true disciple, loyal friend!

Thou hast followed me and found me; I will keep thee to the end.

"Well I know thy toil and trouble; often weary, fainting, worn, I have lived the life of labour, heavy burdens I have borne.

"Never in a prince's palace have I slept on golden bed, Never in a hermit's cavern have I eaten unearned bread.

"Born within a lowly stable, where the cattle round me stood, Trained a carpenter in Nazareth, I have toiled, and found it good.

"They who tread the path of labour follow where my feet have trod; They who work without complaining do the holy will of G.o.d.

"Where the many toil together, there am I among my own; Where the tired workman sleepeth, there am I with him alone.

"I, the peace that pa.s.seth knowledge, dwell amid the daily strife; I, the bread of heaven, am broken in the sacrament of life.

"Every task, however simple, sets the soul that does it free; Every deed of love and mercy, done to man, is done to me.

"Thou hast learned the open secret; thou hast come to me for rest; With thy burden, in thy labour, thou art Felix, doubly blest.

"Nevermore thou needest seek me; I am with thee everywhere; _Raise the stone, and thou shall find me; cleave the wood, and I am there._"

III

ENVOY

The legend of Felix is ended, the toiling of Felix is done; The Master has paid him his wages, the goal of his journey is won; He rests, but he never is idle; a thousand years pa.s.s like a day, In the glad surprise of that Paradise where work is sweeter than play.

Yet often the King of that country comes out from His tireless host, And walks in this world of the weary as if He loved it the most; For here in the dusty confusion, with eyes that are heavy and dim, He meets again the labouring men who are looking and longing for Him.

He cancels the curse of Eden, and brings them a blessing instead: Blessed are they that labour, for Jesus partakes of their bread.

He puts His hand to their burdens, He enters their homes at night: Who does his best shall have as a guest the Master of life and light.

And courage will come with His presence, and patience return at His touch, And manifold sins be forgiven to those who love Him much; The cries of envy and anger will change to the songs of cheer, The toiling age will forget its rage when the Prince of Peace draws near.

This is the gospel of labour, ring it, ye bells of the kirk!

The Lord of Love came down from above, to live with the men who work.

This is the rose that He planted, here in the thorn-curst soil: Heaven is blest with perfect rest, but the blessing of Earth is toil.

1898.

VERA

I

A silent world,--yet full of vital joy Uttered in rhythmic movements manifold, And sunbeams flas.h.i.+ng on the face of things Like sudden smilings of divine delight,-- A world of many sorrows too, revealed In fading flowers and withering leaves and dark Tear-laden clouds, and tearless, clinging mists That hung above the earth too sad to weep,-- A world of fluent change, and changeless flow, And infinite suggestion of new thought, Reflected in the crystal of the heart,-- A world of many meanings but no words, A silent world was Vera's home.

For her The inner doors of sound were closely sealed The outer portals, delicate as sh.e.l.ls Suffused with faintest rose of far-off morn, Like underglow of daybreak in the sea,-- The ear-gates of the garden of her soul, Shaded by drooping tendrils of brown hair,-- Waited in vain for messengers to pa.s.s, And thread the labyrinth with flying feet, And swiftly knock upon the inmost door, And enter in, and speak the mystic word.

But through those gates no message ever came.

Only with eyes did she behold and see,-- With eyes as luminous and bright and brown As waters of a woodland river,--eyes That questioned so they almost seemed to speak, And answered so they almost seemed to hear,-- Only with wondering eyes did she behold The silent splendour of a living world.

She saw the great wind ranging freely down Interminable archways of the wood, While tossing boughs and bending tree-tops hailed His coming: but no sea-toned voice of pines, No roaring of the oaks, no silvery song Of poplars or of birches, followed him.

He pa.s.sed; they waved their arms and clapped their hands; There was no sound.

The torrents from the hills Leaped down their rocky pathways, like wild steeds Breaking the yoke and shaking manes of foam.

The lowland brooks coiled smoothly through the fields, And softly spread themselves in glistening lakes Whose ripples merrily danced among the reeds.

The standing waves that ever keep their place In the swift rapids, curled upon themselves, And seemed about to break and never broke; And all the wandering waves that fill the sea Came buffeting in along the stony sh.o.r.e, Or plunging in along the level sands, Or creeping in along the winding creeks And inlets. Yet from all the ceaseless flow And turmoil of the restless element Came neither song of joy nor sob of grief; For there were many waters, but no voice.

Silent the actors all on Nature's stage Performed their parts before her watchful eyes, Coming and going, making war and love, Working and playing, all without a sound.

The oxen drew their load with swaying necks; The cows came sauntering home along the lane; The nodding sheep were led from field to fold In mute obedience. Down the woodland track The hounds with panting sides and lolling tongues Pursued their flying prey in noiseless haste.

The birds, the most alive of living things, Mated, and built their nests, and reared their young, And swam the flood of air like tiny s.h.i.+ps Rising and falling over unseen waves, And, gathering in great navies, bore away To North or South, without a note of song.

All these were Vera's playmates; and she loved To watch them, wondering oftentimes how well They knew their parts, and how the drama moved So swiftly, smoothly on from scene to scene Without confusion. But she sometimes dreamed There must be something hidden in the play Unknown to her, an utterance of life More clear than action and more deep than looks.

And this she felt most deeply when she watched Her human comrades and the throngs of men, Who met and parted oft with moving lips That had a meaning more than she could see.

She saw a lover bend above a maid, With moving lips; and though he touched her not A sudden rose of joy bloomed in her face.

She saw a hater stand before his foe And move his lips; whereat the other shrank As if he had been smitten on the mouth.

She saw the regiments of toiling men Marshalled in ranks and led by moving lips.

And once she saw a sight more strange than all: A crowd of people sitting charmed and still Around a little company of men Who touched their hands in measured, rhythmic time To curious instruments; a woman stood Among them, with bright eyes and heaving breast, And lifted up her face and moved her lips.

Then Vera wondered at the idle play, But when she looked around, she saw the glow Of deep delight on every face, as if Some visitor from a celestial world Had brought glad tidings. But to her alone No angel entered, for the choir of sound Was vacant in the temple of her soul, And wors.h.i.+p lacked her golden crown of song.

So when by vision baffled and perplexed She saw that all the world could not be seen, And knew she could not know the whole of life Unless a hidden gate should be unsealed, She felt imprisoned. In her heart there grew The bitter creeping plant of discontent, The plant that only grows in prison soil, Whose root is hunger and whose fruit is pain.

The springs of still delight and tranquil joy Were drained as dry as desert dust to feed That never-flowering vine, whose tendrils clung With strangling touch around the bloom of life And made it wither. Vera could not rest Within the limits of her silent world; Along its dumb and desolate paths she roamed A captive, looking sadly for escape.

Now in those distant days, and in that land Remote, there lived a Master wonderful, Who knew the secret of all life, and could, With gentle touches and with potent words, Open all gates that ever had been sealed, And loose all prisoners whom Fate had bound.

Obscure he dwelt, not in the wilderness, But in a hut among the throngs of men, Concealed by meekness and simplicity.

And ever as he walked the city streets, Or sat in quietude beside the sea, Or trod the hillsides and the harvest fields, The mult.i.tude pa.s.sed by and knew him not.

But there were some who knew, and turned to him For help; and unto all who asked, he gave.

Thus Vera came, and found him in the field, And knew him by the pity in his face.

She knelt to him and held him by one hand, And laid the other hand upon her lips In mute entreaty. Then she lifted up The coils of hair that hung about her neck, And bared the beauty of the gates of sound,-- Those virgin gates through which no voice had pa.s.sed,-- She made them bare before the Master's sight, And looked into the kindness of his face With eyes that spoke of all her prisoned pain, And told her great desire without a word.

The Master waited long in silent thought, As one reluctant to bestow a gift, Not for the sake of holding back the thing Entreated, but because he surely knew Of something better that he fain would give If only she would ask it. Then he stooped To Vera, smiling, touched her ears and spoke: "Open, fair gates, and you, reluctant doors, Within the ivory labyrinth of the ear, Let fall the bar of silence and unfold!

Enter, you voices of all living things, Enter the garden sealed,--but softly, slowly, Not with a noise confused and broken tumult,-- Come in an order sweet as I command you, And bring the double gift of speech and hearing."

Vera began to hear. At first the wind Breathed a low prelude of the birth of sound, As if an organ far away were touched By unseen fingers; then the little stream That hurried down the hillside, swept the harp Of music into merry, tinkling notes; And then the lark that poised above her head On wings a-quiver, overflowed the air With showers of song; and one by one the tones Of all things living, in an order sweet, Without confusion and with deepening power, Entered the garden sealed. And last of all The Master's voice, the human voice divine, Pa.s.sed through the gates and called her by her name, And Vera heard.