IV

He shall be strong to sanctify the poet's high vocation,

And bow the meekest Christian down in meeker adoration;

That turns his fevered eyes around-'My mother! where's my mother?'

As if such tender words and deeds could come from any other!

or good forsaken,

Named softly as the household name of one whom God hath taken.

V

With quiet sadness and no gloom I learn
to think upon him,—
With meekness that is gratefulness to
God whose heaven hath won him,
Who suffered once the madness-cloud to
His own love to blind him,
But gently led the blind along where
breath and bird could find him ;

VI

And wrought within his shattered brain such quick poetic senses

As hills have language for, and stars, harmonious influences.

The pulse of dew upon the grass, kept his within its number,

And silent shadows from the trees refreshed him like a slumber.

VII

Wild timid hares were drawn from woods to share his home-caresses, Uplooking to his human eyes with sylvan tendernesses.

The very world, by God's constraint, from falsehood's ways removing, Its women and its men became, beside him, true and loving.

VIII

And though, in blindness, he remained unconscious of that guiding,

And things provided came without the sweet sense of providing,

He testified this solemn truth, while frenzy desolated,

sees her bending o'er him, Her face all pale from watchful love, the unweary love she bore him!Thus, woke the poet from the dream his life's long fever gave him, Beneath those deep pathetic Eyes, which closed in death to save him.

It went up from the Holy's lips amid His lost creation,

God created.

IX

Like a sick child that knoweth not his

mother while she blesses

coolness of her kisses,—

words of desolation!

That earth's worst frenzies, marring hope, should mar not hope's fruition,

his rapture in a vision.

XI

And voices, which, to name me, ay
Their tenderest tones were keeping-
To some I never more can say
An answer, till God wipes away

In heaven these drops of weeping.

XII

My name to me a sadness wears,

No murmurs cross my mind. Now God be thanked for these thick tears, Which show, of those departed years, Sweet memories left behind.

XIII

Now God be thanked for years enwrought
With love which softens yet.
Now God be thanked for every thought
Which is so tender it has caught
Earth's guerdon of regret.

XIV

Earth saddens, never shall remove
Affections purely given;

And e'en that mortal grief shall prove
The immortality of love,

And heighten it with Heaven.

THE MOURNING MOTHER

OF THE DEAD BLIND

DOST thou weep, mourning mother,
For thy blind boy in grave?
That no more with each other
Sweet counsel ye can have ?-
That he, left dark by nature,
Can never more be led
By thee, maternal creature,
Along smooth paths instead?

That thou canst no more show him
The sunshine, by the heat;
The river's silver flowing,
By murmurs at his feet?
The foliage, by its coolness;
The roses, by their smell;
And all creation's fullness,
By Love's invisible?

Weepest thou to behold not

His meek blind eyes again,— Closed doorways which were folded, And prayed against in vainAnd under which sate smiling The child-mouth evermore, As one who watcheth, wiling The time by, at a door? And weepest thou to feel not

His clinging hand on thineWhich now, at dream-time, will not Its cold touch disentwine? And weepest thou still ofter, Oh, never more to mark His low soft words, made softer By speaking in the dark? Weep on, thou mourning mother!

II

But since to him when living

Thou wast both sun and moon, Look o'er his grave, surviving,

From a high sphere alone. Sustain that exaltation,

Expand that tender light, And hold in mother-passion

Thy Blessed in thy sight. See how he went out straightway From the dark world he knew,No twilight in the gateway

To mediate 'twixt the two,Into the sudden glory,

Out of the dark he trod, Departing from before thee

At once to light and GOD!For the first face, beholding

The Christ's in its divine,
For the first place, the golden

And tideless hyaline;
With trees, at lasting summer,

That rock to songful sound,
While angels, the new-comer,
Wrap a still smile around.
Oh, in the blessed psalm now,
His happy voice he tries,
Spreading a thicker palm-bough,
Than others, o'er his eyes!
Yet still, in all the singing,
Thinks haply of thy song
Which, in his life's first springing,
Sang to him all night long;

And wishes it beside him,
With kissing lips that cool
And soft did overglide him,

To make the sweetness full.
Look up, O mourning mother,
Thy blind boy walks in light!
Ye wait for one another,

Before God's infinite.
But thou art now the darkest,

Thou mother left below-
Thou, the sole blind,-thou markest,
Content that it be so,—
Until ye two have meeting

Where Heaven's pearl-gate is, And he shall lead thy feet in,

As once thou leddest his. Wait on, thou mourning mother.

A VALEDICTION

I

God be with thee, my beloved-God be with thee!

Else alone thou goest forth,
Thy face unto the north,

Moor and pleasance all around thee and

beneath thee,

Looking equal in one snow;

While I who try to reach thee,

Vainly follow, vainly follow,

With the farewell and the hollo,
And cannot reach thee so.

Alas, I can but teach thee!

GOD be with thee, my belovèd-God be with thee.

II

Can I teach thee, my belovèd—can I teach thee?

If I said, 'Go left or right,'
The counsel would be light,

The wisdom, poor of all that could enrich thee.

My right would show like left;
My raising would depress thee,
My choice of light would blind thee,
Of way, would leave behind thee,
Of end, would leave bereft.
Alas, I can but bless thee!

May GOD teach thee, my beloved-may
GOD teach thee.