In the mood suggested by my story I have ventured on the poem that follows.Most people love this world more than they are willing to confess, and it is hard to conceive ourselves weaned from it so as to feel no emotion at the thought of its most sacred recollections, even after a sojourn of years, as we should count the lapse of earthly time,--in the realm where, sooner or later, all tears shall be wiped away.I hope, therefore, the title of my lines will not frighten those who are little accustomed to think of men and women as human beings in any state but the present.
HOMESICK IN HEAVEN.
THE DIVINE VOICE.
Go seek thine earth-born sisters,--thus the Voice That all obey,--the sad and silent three;These only, while the hosts of heaven rejoice, Smile never: ask them what their sorrows be:
And when the secret of their griefs they tell, Look on them with thy mild, half-human eyes;Say what thou wast on earth; thou knowest well;So shall they cease from unavailing sighs.
THE ANGEL.
--Why thus, apart,--the swift-winged herald spake,--Sit ye with silent lips and unstrung lyres While the trisagion's blending chords awake In shouts of joy from all the heavenly choirs?
THE FIRST SPIRIT.
--Chide not thy sisters,--thus the answer came;--Children of earth, our half-weaned nature clings To earth's fond memories, and her whispered name Untunes our quivering lips, our saddened strings;For there we loved, and where we love is home, Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts, Though o'er us shine the jasper-lighted dome:--The chain may lengthen, but it never parts!
Sometimes a sunlit sphere comes rolling by, And then we softly whisper,--can it be?
And leaning toward the silvery orb, we try To hear the music of its murmuring sea;To catch, perchance, some flashing glimpse of green, Or breathe some wild-wood fragrance, wafted through The opening gates of pearl, that fold between The blinding splendors and the changeless blue.
THE ANGEL.
--Nay, sister, nay! a single healing leaf Plucked from the bough of yon twelve-fruited tree, Would soothe such anguish,--deeper stabbing grief Has pierced thy throbbing heart--THE FIRST SPIRIT.
---Ah, woe is me!
I from my clinging babe was rudely torn;
His tender lips a loveless bosom pressed Can I forget him in my life new born?
O that my darling lay upon my breast!
THE ANGEL.
--And thou?
THE SECOND SPIRIT.
I was a fair and youthful bride, The kiss of love still burns upon my cheek, He whom I worshipped, ever at my side,--Him through the spirit realm in vain I seek.
Sweet faces turn their beaming eyes on mine;Ah! not in these the wished-for look I read;Still for that one dear human smile I pine;Thou and none other!--is the lover's creed.
THE ANGEL.
--And whence thy sadness in a world of bliss Where never parting comes, nor mourner's tear?
Art thou, too, dreaming of a mortal's kiss Amid the seraphs of the heavenly sphere?
THE THIRD SPIRIT.
--Nay, tax not me with passion's wasting fire;When the swift message set my spirit free, Blind, helpless, lone, I left my gray-haired sire;My friends were many, he had none save me.
I left him, orphaned, in the starless night;Alas, for him no cheerful morning's dawn!
I wear the ransomed spirit's robe of white, Yet still I hear him moaning, She is gone!
THE ANGEL.
--Ye know me not, sweet sisters?--All in vain Ye seek your lost ones in the shapes they wore;The flower once opened may not bud again, The fruit once fallen finds the stem no more.
Child, lover, sire,--yea, all things loved below, Fair pictures damasked on a vapor's fold, Fade like the roseate flush, the golden glow, When the bright curtain of the day is rolled.
I was the babe that slumbered on thy breast.
--And, sister, mine the lips that called thee bride.
--Mine were the silvered locks thy hand caressed, That faithful hand, my faltering footstep's guide!
Each changing form, frail vesture of decay, The soul unclad forgets it once hath worn, Stained with the travel of the weary day, And shamed with rents from every wayside thorn.
To lie, an infant, in thy fond embrace, To come with love's warm kisses back to thee, To show thine eyes thy gray-haired father's face, Not Heaven itself could grant; this may not be!
Then spread your folded wings, and leave to earth The dust once breathing ye have mourned so long, Till Love, new risen, owns his heavenly birth, And sorrow's discords sweeten into song!
