12.
Give me a world, to part for praise and sunder. The brooks be bells; the winds, in caverns dumb, Wake fife and flute and flageolet and voice; The fire-shook earth itself be the great drum; And let the air the region's bass out thunder; The firs be violins; the reeds hautboys; Rivers, seas, icebergs fill the great score up and under!
13.
But rather dost thou hear the blundered words Of breathing creatures; the music-lowing herds Of thy great cattle; thy soft-bleating sheep; O'erhovered by the trebles of thy birds, Whose Christ-praised carelessness song-fills the deep; Still rather a child's talk who apart doth hide him, And make a tent for God to come and sit beside him.
14.
This is not life; this being is not enough. But thou art life, and thou hast life for me. Thou mad'st the worm--to cast the wormy slough, And fly abroad--a glory flit and flee. Thou hast me, statue-like, hewn in the rough, Meaning at last to shape me perfectly. Lord, thou hast called me fourth, I turn and call on thee.
15.
'Tis thine to make, mine to rejoice in thine. As, hungering for his mother's face and eyes, The child throws wide the door, back to the wall, I run to thee, the refuge from poor lies: Lean dogs behind me whimper, yelp, and whine; Life lieth ever sick, Death's writhing thrall, In slavery endless, hopeless, and supine.
16.
The life that hath not willed itself to be, Must clasp the life that willed, and be at peace; Or, like a leaf wind-blown, through chaos flee; A life-husk into which the demons go, And work their will, and drive it to and fro; A thing that neither is, nor yet can cease, Which uncreation can alone release.
17.
But when I turn and grasp the making hand, And will the making will, with confidence I ride the crest of the creation-wave, Helpless no more, no more existence' slave; In the heart of love's creating fire I stand, And, love-possessed in heart and soul and sense, Take up the making share the making Master gave.
18.
That man alone who does the Father's works Can be the Father's son; yea, only he Who sonlike can create, can ever be; Who with God wills not, is no son, not free. O Father, send the demon-doubt that lurks Behind the hope, out into the abyss; Who trusts in knowledge all its good shall miss.
19.
Thy beasts are sinless, and do live before thee; Thy child is sinful, and must run to thee. Thy angels sin not and in peace adore thee; But I must will, or never more be free. I from thy heart came, how can I ignore thee?-- Back to my home I hurry, haste, and flee; There I shall dwell, love-praising evermore thee.
20.
My holy self, thy pure ideal, lies Calm in thy bosom, which it cannot leave; My self unholy, no ideal, hies Hither and thither, gathering store to grieve-- Not now, O Father! now it mounts, it flies, To join the true self in thy heart that waits, And, one with it, be one with all the heavenly mates.
21.
Trusting thee, Christ, I kneel, and clasp thy knee; Cast myself down, and kiss thy brother-feet-- One self thou and the Father's thought of thee! Ideal son, thou hast left the perfect home, Ideal brother, to seek thy brothers come! Thou know'st our angels all, God's children sweet, And of each two wilt make one holy child complete.
22.
To a slow end I draw these daily words, Nor think such words often to write again-- Rather, as light the power to me affords, Christ's new and old would to my friends unbind; Through words he spoke help to his thought behind; Unveil the heart with which he drew his men; Set forth his rule o'er devils, animals, corn, and wind.