I know not what I was playing,
Or what I was dreaming then,
But I struck one chord of music,
Like the sound of a great Amen.
It flooded the crimson twilight,
Like the close of an angel's Psalm,
And it lay on my fevered spirit
With a touch of infinite calm.
It quieted pain and sorrow,
Like love overcoming strife;
It seemed the harmonious echo
From our discordant life.
It linked all perplexed meanings
Into one perfect peace,
And trembled away in silence
As if both were loth to cease.
I have sought but I seek it vainly,
That one lost chord divine,
Which came from the soul of the organ
And entered into mine.
It may be that death's bright angel
Will speak in that chord again-
It may be that only in heaven
I shall hear that great Amen.
Count each affliction, whether light or grave.
God's messenger sent down to thee; do thou
With courtesy receive him; rise and bow;
And, ere his shadow pass thy threshold, crave
Permission first his heavenly feet to lave;
Then lay before him all thou hast. Allow
No cloud of passion to usurp thy brow,
Or mar thy hospitality; no wave
Of mortal tumult to obliterate
Thy soul's marmoreal calmness. Grief should be Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate,
Confirming cleansing, raising, making free; Strong to consume small troubles; to commend Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the end.
WHO NEVER ATE WITH TEARS HIS BREAD
Translated by Farnsworth Wright
Who never ate with tears his bread,
Who never through the troubled hours
Weeping sad upon his bed,
He knows ye not, ye heavenly powers.
Ye lead us into life amain,
Ye let the poor with guilt be weighted,
And then ye give him o'er to pain,
For guilt must all be compensated.
SORROWS HUMANIZE OUR RACE
Sorrows humanize our race;
Tears are the showers that fertilize this world:
And memory of things precious keepeth warm
The heart that once did hold them.
That have lost nothing: they are poorer far
Who, losing, have forgotten: they most poor
Of all, who lose and wish they might forget.
For life is one, and in its warp and woof
There runs a thread of gold that glitters fair,
And sometimes in the pattern shows more sweet
Where there are sombre colors. It is true
That we have wept. But O, this thread of gold,
We would not have it tarnish: let us turn
Oft and look back upon the wondrous web,
And when it shineth sometimes we shall know
That memory is possession.
'TIS SORROW BUILDS THE SHINING LADDER UP
'Tis sorrow builds the shining ladder up,
Whose golden rounds are our calamities,
Whereon our feet planting, nearer God
The spirit climbs and hath its eyes unsealed.
True it is that Death's face seems stern and cold,
When he is sent to summon those we love,
But all God's angels come to us disguised.
Sorrow and sickness, poverty and death,
One after other lift their frowning masks
And we behold the seraph's face beneath,
All radiant with the glory and the calm
Of having looked upon the front of God.
With every anguish of our earthly part
The spirit's path grows clearer; this was meant
When Jesus touched the blind man's lids with clay.
Life is the jailer; Death the angel sent
To draw the unwilling bolts and set us free.
Let thy gold be cast in the furnace,
Thy red gold, precious and bright;
Do not fear the hungry fire,
With its caverns of burning light;
And thy gold shall return more precious,
Free from every spot and stain;
For gold must be tried by fire,
As a heart must be tried by pain!
In the cruel fire of Sorrow
Cast thy heart, do not faint or wail;
Let thy hand be firm and steady
Do not let thy spirit quail:
But wait till the trial is over
And take thy heart again;
For as gold is tried by fire,
So a heart must be tried by pain!
I shall know by the gleam and the glitter
Of the golden chain you wear,
By your heart's calm strength in loving,
Of the fire they have had to bear.
Beat on, true heart, forever!
Shine bright, strong golden chain!
And bless the cleansing fire,
And the furnace of living pain!
One day there entered at my chamber door
A presence whose light footfall on the floor
No token gave; and, ere I could withstand,
Within her clasp she drew my trembling hand.
"Intrusive guest," I cried, "my palm I lend
But to the gracious pressure of a friend!
Why comest thou, unbidden and in gloom,
Trailing thy cold gray garments in my room?
"I know thee, Pain! Thou art the sullen foe
Of every sweet enjoyment here below;
Thou art the comrade and ally of Death,
And timid mortals shrink from thy cold breath.
"No fragrant balms grow in thy garden beds,
Nor slumbrous poppies droop their crimson heads;
And well I know thou comest to me now
To bind thy burning chains upon my brow!"
And though my puny will stood straightly up, From that day forth I drank her pungent cup, And ate her bitter bread,-with leaves of rue, Which in her sunless gardens rankly grew.
And now, so long it is, I scarce can tell
When Pain within my chamber came to dwell;
And though she is not fair of mien or face,
She hath attracted to my humble place
A company most gracious and refined,
Whose touches are like balm, whose voices kind: Sweet Sympathy, with box of ointment rare; Courage, who sings while she sits weaving there;
Brave Patience, whom my heart esteemeth much, And who hath wondrous virtue in her touch. Such is the chaste and sweet society
Which Pain, my faithful foe, hath brought to me.
And now, upon my threshold there she stands,
Reaching to me her rough yet kindly hands
In silent truce. Thus for a time we part,
And a great gladness overflows my heart;
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