But whoso entered there -- and few were they --
So very few -- so very, very few,
They never did forget; they said: "How strange!"
They murmured still: "How strange! how strangely strange!"
They went their ways, but wore a lifted look,
And higher meanings came to common words,
And lowly thoughts took on the grandest tones;
And, near or far, they never did forget
The "Shadow and the Shrine"; his face was sad.
He was not young nor old -- yet he was both;
Nor both by turns, but always both at once;
For youth and age commingled in his ways,
His words, his feelings, and his thoughts and acts.
At times the "old man" tottered in his thoughts,
The child played thro' his words; his face was sad.
I one day asked his age; he smiled and said:
"The rose that sleeps upon yon valley's breast,
Just born to-day, is not as young as I;
The moss-robed oak of twice a thousand storms --
An acorn cradled ages long ago --
Is old, in sooth, but not as old as I."
It was his way -- he always answered thus,
But when he did his face was very sad.
* * * * *
Spirit Song
Thou wert once the purest wave
Where the tempests roar;
Thou art now a golden wave
On the golden shore --
Ever -- ever -- evermore!
Thou wert once the bluest wave
Shadows e'er hung o'er;
Thou art now the brightest wave
On the brightest shore --
Ever -- ever -- evermore!
Thou wert once the gentlest wave
Ocean ever bore;
Thou art now the fairest wave
On the fairest shore --
Ever -- ever -- evermore!
Whiter foam than thine, O wave,
Wavelet never wore,
Stainless wave; and now you lave
The far and stormless shore --
Ever -- ever -- evermore!
Who bade thee go, O bluest wave,
Beyond the tempest's roar?
Who bade thee flow, O fairest wave,
Unto the golden shore,
Ever -- ever -- evermore?
Who waved a hand, O purest wave?
A hand that blessings bore,
And wafted thee, O whitest wave,
Unto the fairest shore,
Ever -- ever -- evermore?
Who winged thy way, O holy wave,
In days and days of yore?
And wept the words: "O winsome wave,
This earth is not thy shore!"
Ever -- ever -- evermore?
Who gave thee strength, O snowy wave --
The strength a great soul wore --
And said: "Float up to God! my wave,
His heart shall be thy shore!"
Ever -- ever -- evermore?
Who said to thee, O poor, weak wave:
"Thy wail shall soon be o'er,
Float on to God, and leave me, wave,
Upon this rugged shore!"
Ever -- ever -- evermore?
And thou hast reached His feet! Glad wave,
Dost dream of days of yore?
Dost yearn that we shall meet, pure wave,
Upon the golden shore,
Ever -- ever -- evermore?
Thou sleepest in the calm, calm wave,
Beyond the wild storm's roar!
I watch amid the storm, bright wave,
Like rock upon the shore;
Ever -- ever -- evermore!
Sing at the feet of God, white wave,
Song sweet as one of yore!
I would not bring thee back, heart wave,
To break upon this shore,
Ever -- ever -- evermore!
* * * * *
"No, no," he gently spoke: "You know me not;
My mind is like a temple, dim, vast, lone;
Just like a temple when the priest has gone,
And all the hymns that rolled along the vaults
Are buried deep in silence; when the lights
That flashed on altars died away in dark,
And when the flowers, with all their perfumed breath
And beauteous bloom, lie withered on the shrine.
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