Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Christina Rossetti
Page 44
Speak to me of Paradise, of all blessed saints to me:
Or keep silence touching them, and speak to my heart alone
Of the Saint of saints, the King of kings, the Lamb on the Throne.
OUR MOTHERS, LOVELY WOMEN PITIFUL
Our Mothers, lovely women pitiful;
Our Sisters, gracious in their life and death;
To us each unforgotten memory saith:
“Learn as we learned in life’s sufficient school,
Work as we worked in patience of our rule,
Walk as we walked, much less by sight than faith,
Hope as we hoped, despite our slips and scathe,
Fearful in joy and confident in dule.”
I know not if they see us or can see;
But if they see us in our painful day,
How looking back to earth from Paradise
Do tears not gather in those loving eyes? —
Ah, happy eyes! whose tears are wiped away
Whether or not you bear to look on me.
SAFE WHERE I CANNOT LIE YET
Safe where I cannot lie yet,
Safe where I hope to lie too,
Safe from the fume and the fret;
You, and you,
Whom I never forget.
Safe from the frost and the snow,
Safe from the storm and the sun,
Safe where the seeds wait to grow
One by one
And to come back in blow.
IS IT WELL WITH THE CHILD?
Lying a-dying.
Have done with vain sighing:
Life not lost but treasured,
God Almighty pleasured,
God’s daughter fetched and carried,
Christ’s bride betrothed and married.
Our tender little dove
Meek-eyed and simple,
Our love goes home to Love:
There shall she walk in white,
Where God shall be the Light,
And God the Temple.
DEAR ANGELS AND DEAR DISEMBODIED SAINTS
Dear Angels and dear disembodied Saints
Unseen around us, worshipping in rest,
May wonder that man’s heart so often faints
And his steps lag along the heavenly quest,
What while his foolish fancy moulds and paints
A fonder hope than all they prove for best;
A lying hope which undermines and taints
His soul, as sin and sloth make manifest.
Sloth, and a lie, and sin: shall these suffice
The unfathomable heart of craving man,
That heart which being a deep calls to the deep?
Behold how many like us rose and ran
When Christ, life-giver, roused them from their sleep
To rise and run and rest in Paradise!
TO EVERY SEED HIS OWN BODY
Bone to his bone, grain to his grain of dust:
A numberless reunion shall make whole
Each blessed body for its blessed soul,
Refashioning the aspects of the just.
Each saint who died must live afresh, and must
Ascend resplendent in the aureole
Of his own proper glory to his goal,
As seeds their proper bodies all upthrust.
Each with his own not with another’s grace,
Each with his own not with another’s heart,
Each with his own not with another’s face,
Each dove-like soul mounts to his proper place: —
O faces unforgotten! if to part
Wrung sore, what will it be to re-embrace?
WHAT GOOD SHALL MY LIFE DO ME?
Have dead men long to wait? —
There is a certain term
For their bodies to the worm
And their souls at heaven gate.
Dust to dust, clod to clod,
These precious things of God,
Trampled underfoot by man
And beast the appointed years. —
Their longest life was but a span
For change and smiles and tears.
Is it worthwhile to live,
Rejoice and grieve,
Hope, fear, and die?
Man with man, truth with lie,
The slow show dwindles by:
At last what shall we have
Besides a grave? —
Lies and shows no more,
No fear, no pain,
But after hope and sleep
Dear joys again.
Those who sowed shall reap:
Those who bore
The Cross shall wear the Crown:
Those who clomb the steep
There shall sit down.
The Shepherd of the sheep
Feeds His flock there,
In watered pastures fair
They rest and leap.
“Is it worth while to live?”
Be of good cheer:
Love casts out fear:
Rise up, achieve.
SONGS FOR STRANGERS AND PILGRIMS
CONTENTS
HER SEED; IT SHALL BRUISE THY HEAD
JUDGE NOTHING BEFORE THE TIME
HOW GREAT IS LITTLE MAN!
MAN’S LIFE IS BUT A WORKING DAY
THE DAY IS AT HAND
ENDURE HARDNESS
WHITHER THE TRIBES GO UP, EVEN THE TRIBES OF THE LORD
WHERE NEVER TEMPEST HEAVETH
MARVEL OF MARVELS, IF I MYSELF SHALL BEHOLD
WHAT IS THAT TO THEE? FOLLOW THOU ME
WORSHIP GOD
AFTERWARD HE REPENTED, AND WENT
ARE THEY NOT ALL MINISTERING SPIRITS?
OUR LIFE IS LONG. NOT SO, WISE ANGELS SAY
LORD, WHAT HAVE I TO OFFER? SICKENING FEAR
JOY IS BUT SORROW
CAN I KNOW IT? — NAY
WHEN MY HEART IS VEXED I WILL COMPLAIN
PRAYING ALWAYS
AS THY DAYS, SO SHALL THY STRENGTH BE
A HEAVY HEART, IF EVER HEART WAS HEAVY
IF LOVE IS NOT WORTH LOVING, THEN LIFE IS NOT WORTH LIVING
WHAT IS IT JESUS SAITH UNTO THE SOUL?
THEY LIE AT REST, OUR BLESSED DEAD
YE THAT FEAR HIM, BOTH SMALL AND GREAT
CALLED TO BE SAINTS
THE SINNER’S OWN FAULT? SO IT WAS
WHO CARES FOR EARTHLY BREAD THO’ WHITE?
LAUGHING LIFE CRIES AT THE FEAST
THE END IS NOT YET
WHO WOULD WISH BACK THE SAINTS UPON OUR ROUGH
THAT WHICH HATH BEEN IS NAMED ALREADY, AND IT IS KNOWN THAT IT IS MAN
OF EACH SAD WORD WHICH IS MORE SORROWFUL
I SEE THAT ALL THINGS COME TO AN END
BUT THY COMMANDMENT IS EXCEEDING BROAD
SURSAM CORDA
O YE, WHO ARE NOT DEAD AND FIT
WHERE SHALL I FIND A WHITE ROSE BLOWING?
REDEEMING THE TIME
NOW THEY DESIRE A BETTER COUNTRY
A CASTLE-BUILDER’S WORLD
THESE ALL WAIT UPON THEE
DOETH WELL … DOETH BETTER
OUR HEAVEN MUST BE WITHIN OURSELVES
VANITY OF VANITIES
THE HILLS ARE TIPPED WITH SUNSHINE, WHILE I WALK
SCARCE TOLERABLE LIFE, WHICH ALL LIFE LONG
ALL HEAVEN IS BLAZING YET
BALM IN GILEAD
IN THE DAY OF HIS ESPOUSALS
SHE CAME FROM THE UTTERMOST PART OF THE EARTH
ALLELUIA! OR ALAS! MY HEART IS CRYING
THE PASSION FLOWER HATH SPRUNG UP TALL
GOD’S ACRE
THE FLOWERS APPEAR ON THE EARTH
THOU KNEWEST … THOU OUGHTEST THEREFORE
GO IN PEACE
HALF DEAD
ONE OF THE SOLDIERS WITH A SPEAR PIERCED HIS SIDE
WHERE LOVE IS, THERE COMES SORROW
BURY HOPE OUT OF SIGHT
A CHURCHYARD SONG OF PATIENT HOPE
ONE WOE IS PAST. COME WHAT COME WILL
TAKE NO THOUGHT FOR THE MORROW
CONSIDER THE LILIES OF THE FIELD
SON, REMEMBER
HEAVINESS MAY ENDURE FOR A NIGHT, BUT JOY COMETH IN THE MORNING
THE WILL OF THE LORD BE DONE
LAY UP FOR YOURSELVES TREASURES IN HEAVEN
WHOM THE LORD LOVETH HE CHASTENETH
THEN SHALL YE SHOUT
EVERYTHING THAT IS BORN MUST DIE
LORD, GRANT US CALM, IF CALM CAN SET FORTH THEE
CHANGING CHIMES
THY SERVANT WILL GO AND FIGHT WITH THIS PHILISTINE
THRO’ BURDEN AND HEAT OF THE DAY
THEN I COMMENDED MIRTH
SORROW HATH A DOUBLE VOICE
SHADOWS TODAY, WHILE SHADOWS SHOW GOD’S WILL
TRULY THE LIGHT IS SWEET
ARE YE NOT MUCH BETTER THAN THEY?
YEA, THE SPARROW HATH FOUND HER AN HOUSE
I AM SMALL AND OF NO REPUTATION
O CHRIST MY GOD WHO SEEST THE UNSEEN
YEA, IF THOU WILT, THOU CANST PUT UP THY SWORD
SWEETNESS OF REST WHEN THOU SHEDDEST REST
O FOOLISH SOUL! TO MAKE THY COUNT
BEFORE THE BEGINNING THOU HAST FOREKNOWN THE END
THE GOAL IN SIGHT! LOOK UP AND SING
LOOKING BACK ALONG LIFE’S TRODDEN WAY
HER SEED; IT SHALL BRUISE THY HEAD
Astonished Heaven looked on when man was made,
When fallen man reproved seemed half forgiven;
Surely that oracle of hope first said,
Astonished Heaven.
Even so while one by one lost souls are shriven,
A mighty multitude of quickened dead;
Christ’s love outnumbering ten times sevenfold seven.
Even so while man still tosses high his head,
While still the All-Holy Spirit’s strife is striven; —
Till one last trump shake earth, and undismayed
Astonished Heaven.
JUDGE NOTHING BEFORE THE TIME
Love understands the mystery, whereof
We can but spell a surface history:
Love knows, remembers: let us trust in Love:
Love understands the mystery.
Love weighs the event, the long pre-history,
Measures the depth beneath, the height above,
The mystery, with the ante-mystery.
To love and to be grieved befits a dove
Silently telling her bead-history:
Trust all to Love, be patient and approve:
Love understands the mystery.
HOW GREAT IS LITTLE MAN!
How great is little man!
Sun, moon, and stars respond to him,
Shine or grow dim
Harmonious with his span.
How little is great man!
More changeable than changeful moon,
Nor half in tune
With Heaven’s harmonious plan.
Ah, rich man! ah, poor man!
Make ready for the testing day
When wastes away
What bears not fire or fan.
Thou heir of all things, man,
Pursue the saints by heavenward track:
They looked not back;
Run thou, as erst they ran.
Little and great is man:
Great if he will, or if he will
A pigmy still;
For what he will he can.
MAN’S LIFE IS BUT A WORKING DAY
Man’s life is but a working day
Whose tasks are set aright:
A time to work, a time to pray,
And then a quiet night.
And then, please God, a quiet night
Where palms are green and robes are white;
A long-drawn breath, a balm for sorrow,
And all things lovely on the morrow.
If not with hope of life,
Begin with fear of death:
Strive the tremendous life-long strife
Breath after breath.
Bleed on beneath the rod;
Weep on until thou see;
Turn fear and hope to love of God
Who loveth thee.
Turn all to love, poor soul;
Be love thy watch and ward;
Be love thy starting-point, thy goal,
And thy reward.
THE DAY IS AT HAND
Watch yet a while,
Weep till that day shall dawn when thou shalt smile:
Watch till the day
When all save only Love shall pass away.
Then Love rejoicing shall forget to weep,
Shall hope or fear no more, or watch or sleep,
But only love and stint not, deep beyond deep.
Now we sow love in tears, but then shall reap.
Have patience as True Love’s own flock of sheep:
Have patience with His Love
Who served for us, Who reigns for us above.
ENDURE HARDNESS
A cold wind stirs the blackthorn
To burgeon and to blow,
Besprinkling half-green hedges
With flakes and sprays of snow.
Thro’ coldness and thro’ keenness,
Dear hearts, take comfort so:
Somewhere or other doubtless
These make the blackthorn blow.
WHITHER THE TRIBES GO UP, EVEN THE TRIBES OF THE LORD
Light is our sorrow for it ends tomorrow,
Light is our death which cannot hold us fast;
So brief a sorrow can be scarcely sorrow,
Or death be death so quickly past.
One night, no more, of pain that turns to pleasure,
One night, no more, of weeping weeping sore;
And then the heaped-up measure beyond measure,
In quietness for evermore.
Our face is set like flint against our trouble,
Yet many things there are which comfort us;
This bubble is a rainbow-coloured bubble,
This bubble-life tumultuous.
Our sails are set to cross the tossing river,
Our face is set to reach Jerusalem;
We toil awhile, but then we rest for ever,
Sing with all Saints and rest with them.
WHERE NEVER TEMPEST HEAVETH
Where never tempest heaveth,
Nor sorrow grieveth,
Nor death bereaveth,
Nor hope deceiveth,
Sleep.
Where never shame bewaileth,
Nor serpent traileth,
Nor death prevaileth,
Nor harvest faileth,
Reap.
MARVEL OF MARVELS, IF I MYSELF SHALL BEHOLD
Marvel of marvels, if I myself shall behold
With mine own eyes my King in His city of gold;
Where the least of lambs is spotless white in the fold,
Where the least and last of saints in spotless white is stoled,
Where the dimmest head beyond a moon is aureoled.
O saints, my beloved, now mouldering to mould in the mould,
Shall I see you lift your heads, see your cerements unrolled,
See with these very eyes? who now in darkness and cold
Tremble for the midnight cry, the rapture, the tale untold,
“The Bridegroom cometh, cometh, His Bride to enfold.”
Cold it is, my beloved, since your funeral bell was tolled:
Cold it is, O my King, how cold alone on the wold.
WHAT IS THAT TO THEE? FOLLOW THOU ME
Lie still, my restive heart, lie still:
God’s Word to thee saith, “Wait and bear.”
The good which He appoints is good,
The good which He denies were ill:
Yea, subtle comfort is thy care,
Thy hurt a help not understood.
“Friend, go up higher,” to one: to one,
“Friend, enter thou My joy,” He saith:
To one, “Be faithful unto dea
th.”
For some a wilderness doth flower,
Or day’s work in one hour is done: —
“But thou, could’st thou not watch one hour?”
Lord, I had chosen another lot,
But then I had not chosen well;
Thy choice and only Thine is good:
No different lot, search heaven or hell,
Had blessed me fully understood;
None other, which Thou orderest not.
WORSHIP GOD
Lord, if Thy word had been “Worship Me not,
For I than thou am holier: draw not near:”
We had besieged Thy Face with prayer and tear
And manifold abasement in our lot,
Our crooked ground, our thorned and thistled plot;
Envious of flawless Angels in their sphere,
Envious of brutes, and envious of the mere
Unliving and undying unbegot.
But now Thou hast said, “Worship Me, and give
Thy heart to Me, My child:” now therefore we
Think twice before we stoop to worship Thee:
We proffer half a heart while life is strong
And strung with hope; so sweet it is to live!
Wilt Thou not wait? Yea, Thou hast waited long.
AFTERWARD HE REPENTED, AND WENT
Lord, when my heart was whole I kept it back
And grudged to give it Thee.
Now then that it is broken, must I lack
Thy kind word “Give it Me”?
Silence would be but just, and Thou art just.
Yet since I lie here shattered in the dust,
With still an eye to lift to Thee,
A broken heart to give,
I think that Thou wilt bid me live,
And answer “Give it Me.”
ARE THEY NOT ALL MINISTERING SPIRITS?