| |
| IN the beginning, there was nought | |
| But heaven, one Majesty of Light, | |
| Beyond all speech, beyond all thought, | |
| Beyond all depth, beyond all height, | |
| Consummate heaven, the first and last, | 5 |
| Enfolding in its perfect prime | |
| No future rushing to the past, | |
| But one rapt Now, that knew not Space or Time. | |
| |
| Formless it was, being gold on gold, | |
| And void—but with that complete Life | 10 |
| Where music could no wings unfold | |
| Till lo, God smote the strings of strife! | |
| ‘Myself unto Myself am Throne, | |
| Myself unto Myself am Thrall! | |
| I that am All am all alone,’ | 15 |
| He said, ‘Yea, I have nothing, having all.’ | |
| |
| And, gathering round His mount of bliss | |
| The angel-squadrons of His will, | |
| He said, ‘One battle yet there is | |
| To win, one vision to fulfil! | 20 |
| Since heaven where’er I gaze expands, | |
| And power that knows no strife or cry, | |
| Weakness shall bind and pierce my hands | |
| And make a world for Me wherein to die. | |
| |
| All might, all vastness and all glory | 25 |
| Being mine, I must descend and make | |
| Out of my heart a song, a story | |
| Of little hearts that burn and break; | |
| Out of my passion without end | |
| I will make little azure seas, | 30 |
| And into small sad fields descend | |
| And make green grass, white daisies, rustling trees.’ | |
| |
| Then shrank His angels, knowing He thrust | |
| His arms out East and West and gave | |
| For every little dream of dust | 35 |
| Part of his Life as to a grave! | |
| ‘Enough, O Father, for thy words | |
| Have pierced thy hands!’ But low and sweet, | |
| He said ‘Sunsets and streams and birds, | |
| And drifting clouds!’—The purple stain’d his feet.— | 40 |
| |
| ‘Enough!’ His angels moan’d in fear, | |
| ‘Father, thy words have pierced thy side!’ | |
| He whisper’d ‘Roses shall grow there, | |
| And there must be a hawthorn-tide, | |
| And ferns, dewy at dawn,’ and still | 45 |
| They moan’d—Enough, the red drops bleed! | |
| ‘And,’ sweet and low, ‘on every hill,’ | |
| He said, ‘I will have flocks and lambs to lead.’ | |
| |
| His angels bow’d their heads beneath | |
| Their wings till that great pang was gone: | 50 |
| Pour not thy soul out unto Death! | |
| They moan’d, and still his Love flow’d on, | |
| ‘There shall be small white wings to stray | |
| From bliss to bliss, from bloom to bloom, | |
| And blue flowers in the wheat; and—’ ‘Stay! | 55 |
| Speak not,’ they cried, ‘the word that seals thy tomb!’ | |
| |
| He spake—‘I have thought of a little child | |
| That I will have there to embark | |
| On small adventures in the wild, | |
| And front slight perils in the dark; | 60 |
| And I will hide from him and lure | |
| His laughing eyes with suns and moons, | |
| And rainbows that shall not endure; | |
| And—when he is weary sing him drowsy tunes.’ | |
| |
| His angels fell before Him weeping, | 65 |
| ‘Enough! Tempt not the Gates of Hell!’ | |
| He said ‘His soul is in his keeping | |
| That we may love each other well, | |
| And lest the dark too much affright him, | |
| I will strew countless little stars | 70 |
| Across his childish skies to light him | |
| That he may wage in peace his mimic wars | |
| |
| And oft forget Me as he plays | |
| With swords and childish merchandise, | |
| Or with his elfin balance weighs, | 75 |
| Or with his foot-rule metes, the skies; | |
| Or builds his castles by the deep, | |
| Or tunnels through the rocks, and then— | |
| Turn to Me as he falls asleep, | |
| And, in his dreams, feel for My hand again. | 80 |
| |
| And when he is older he shall be | |
| My friend and walk here at My side; | |
| Or—when he wills—grow young with Me, | |
| And, to that happy world where once we died | |
| Descending through the calm blue weather, | 85 |
| Buy life once more with our immortal breath, | |
| And wander through the little fields together, | |
| And taste of Love and Death.’ | |
| |
