And by the imperial towers of Rome,
He vainly sought to find that peace
Denied him in his childhood’s home.
Beneath Lake Leman’s watery bed,
In Chillon’s dungeon damp and low,
Communing with the mighty dead,
His spirit felt a kindred glow.
He drank Circassia’s breath of bloom,
He climbed the Alps’ eternal snows,
He plucked the leaves by Virgil’s tomb,
And stood where ancient Jordan flows.
And where Napoleon’s falchion gleamed
Along the borders of the Nile,
The pilgrim exile slept, and dreamed
He saw his own loved mother’s smile.
With weary feet he came, at last,
Where, all untouched by Time’s rude hands,
The Pyramids their shadows cast
Upon the desert’s burning sands.
Still in their works of greatness dwelt
The spirits of these mighty men;
Before their majesty he knelt!
He rose--and he was strong again.
O thou! whose life is all inwrought
With cheerful faith and strength sublime,
Leave _thou_ some monumental thought
Upon the desert waste of Time.
Some exile from his native heaven
May tread the path which thou hast trod,
And through _thy works_ may strength be given
To lift his spirit up to God.
THE INNER MYSTERY.
The following inspirational poem was delivered at a festival
commemorative of the twentieth anniversary of the advent of Modern
Spiritualism, held in Music Hall, Boston, March 31, 1868.
It is an allegorical description of the progress of a soul from
the Valley of Superstition and Traditional Theology to the highest
mountain peaks of Natural Philosophy and Spiritual Revelation. He
is strengthened and encouraged in his progress by the voices “of
the loved ones gone before.” At length, in the higher regions of
metaphysical reasoning and abstract philosophy, he encounters the
demon Doubt--a representative of popular Theology and traditional
authority. This Doubt endeavors to make him distrust reason, and
render a blind credence to mere authority. In the struggle with
the demon the great Truth flashes with a realizing sense upon the
soul, that by its inherent nature _it is older than all forms
of Truth, and one with God himself_. In the strength of this
conviction he conquers, and the demon is slain.
Thus “THE INNER MYSTERY” is revealed, and the unfolding of the
spiritual perceptions follows as a legitimate result.
“According to Fichte, there is a Divine Idea pervading the
visible universe; which visible universe is indeed but its symbol
and sensible manifestation, having in itself no meaning, or
even true existence, independent of it. To the mass of men this
Divine Idea lies hidden; yet to discern it, to seize it, and live
wholly in it, is the condition of all genuine virtue, knowledge,
freedom, and the end, therefore, of all spiritual effort in every
age.”--CARLYLE.
In the valley, where the darkness
Dropped its poisonous vapors on my head,
Where the night winds moaned and murmured,
Like the voices of the troubled dead,
Groping, stumbling, weary and alone,
Did I make the earth my bed,
And my pillow was a stone.
O, that slumber!
It was long, and dark, and deep,
Till a voice cried, “Come up hither!”
And I started from my sleep.
“Whither?” cried I; and it answered,
“Come up hither! for the day is dawning;
Through the gates of amethyst and amber
Shines the kindling glory of the morning.”
Gazing upward,
I beheld assurance of the day;
Hopeful-hearted,
O’er the mountain-path I took my way.
’Mid the pine trees
Did I hear life’s drowsy pulses start,
Swinging, singing,
Making sweet, but mournful music,
Thrilling, filling,
All the lonely places of my heart.
Then the embers of the morning,
Smouldering on night’s funeral pyre,
Kindling into sudden brightness,
Lit the mountain-peaks with fire;
And the quickened heart of Nature
Answered from her Memnon lyre.
Eager, earnest, still ascending,
Toward the glories of the day,
I could hear that voice my steps attending,
With the matin-hymn of Nature blending,
Ever crying, “Come up hither!”
And I followed in the way.
Bright the sky glowed with celestial splendor,
Like the light of love from God’s own eyes;
And the lofty mountains seemed to tender
Back their crowns of glory to the skies.
Far above me,
In the hights so terrible and grand,
I could see the glaciers gleaming
In the hollow of the mountain’s hand.
Flashing, dashing,
From the steeps the foaming cataract poured,
Over pathways
Which the mighty avalanche had scored.
Dim and ghostly
Rose the silvery clouds of wreathéd spray,
Rainbow-mantled,
Vanishing in upper air away.
Elfin shadows
O’er my lonely pathway leaped and played,
As the pine trees
Dreamily their murmuring branches swayed.
All the air seemed filled with voices,
Which I ne’er had thought to hear again;
And I fled, to leave behind me,
Sounds of pleasure close allied to pain.
Upward, onward, did I speed my way,
Nearer to the perfect source of day.
Awed by beauty and by terror,
Tearful, prayerful, did I sink,
Where the tender, blue-eyed gentian
Bloomed upon the glacier’s brink.
“Save me! O thou loving Lord!” I cried,
“From the unforeseen intrusion
Of this sad, but sweet delusion,
From this strange and cruel semblance
To the cherished love that long since died.
“Come up hither!”
Cried my unknown guide who went before.
“Come up hither!”
And I followed in the way once more,--
Upward, where the tempests gathered,
Where the lightnings crouched within their lair,
Where the mighty God of thunder
With his hammer smote the shuddering air,
Where the tall cliffs, battle-splintered,
Reared their lofty summits, bleak and bare;
Higher yet, where all my life-tide,
With the breath of Heaven grew chill;
And I felt my pulses quickened,
With a strange, electric thrill.
Not one blossom brightened in my pathway,
Not one lichen dared that wintry breath;
But far up above, and all around me,
Brooded awful silence, as of death.
And I walked where ragged precipices,
Overhanging wild and dark abysses,
Frowned upon the dizzy depths below;
Where the yawning chasms,
Rent by earthquake spasms,
Strove to fill their hungry throats with snow.
Burdened with a sense of solemn grandeur,
With a deeply reverent heart I trod
’Mid those awful and majestic altars
Of the Unknown God.
Musing deeply,
As I turned an angle of the rocky wall,
Lo! before me
Stood a figure, ghostly, gaunt, and tall;
Like the famous, fabled image,
Falling from Dardanian skies,
Wrapped in white, marmorial silence,
Did he greet my wondering eyes.
Straight upon the narrow pathway,
Fixed as fate, he seemed to stand,
With a widely yawning chasm,
And a wall on either hand.
“Come up hither! come up hither!”
Cried the voice that went before;
And my spirit leaped impatient
To obey the call once more.
“Let me pass, I pray thee,”
Said I in a calm and courteous tone;
But he only gazed upon me,
With a face as passionless as stone.
“Prithee, stand aside!” I said more firmly,
“For I may not stay;
I must reach the mountain-hights above me
Ere the close of day.”
But he stirred not, spake not, breathed not,
Only turned his stony eyes
Downward--to the yawning chasm,
Upward--to the distant skies.
“Wherefore,” said I,
With a slowly kindling wrath,
“Do you seek to stay my progress,
Do you stand across my path?
What am I to thee, or thou to me?
Stand aside, or prithee, sirrah,
Which is stronger we shall shortly see.
Like a statue did he stand--the same.
Then my smothered wrath waxed hotter;
“Demon! speak thy name and tell thine errand!”
Cried I, with a loudly ringing shout;
And his cold lips parted, as he answered,
“I am DOUBT.
“Go no farther,
For a phantom lures thee on thy way;
Upward striving
Will not bring thee nearer to the perfect day.
In the valley
All is warmth, and rest, and kindly cheer;
Go no farther;
It is _lone_ and _very cold up here_.
“Trust not to your erring Reason
All your aspirations to control;
Man grows ripe before the season
When he heeds the promptings of the soul.
“Come up hither! come up hither,”
Cried the tuneful voice again;
“Doubt should never counsel duty,
When the way of truth is plain.
“Stay!” replied the watchful demon;
“Thou _shalt_ lend an ear to Doubt,
For, by Heaven! thou shalt not pass me
Until thou hast heard me out.
Thou art deeply cursed from the beginning,
All thy nature is corrupt with sinning;
God refuses thee his grace to-day;
Christ alone his righteous wrath can stay.
All thy prayerful aspiration
But retards thy soul’s salvation;
All the efforts of thy godless will
Make thy deep damnation deeper still.
O thou self-deluded dreamer!
O thou transcendental schemer!
Leave thine idle speculations,
Trances, visions, exaltations,
And thy toilsome upward progress stay.
By thy fallen, lost condition,
By the depths of thy perdition,
I have promised,
Yea, have _sworn_, to turn thee from this way.
“Come up hither! come up hither!”
Cried the voice persuasive from above.
Then I looked, and bending o’er me,
I beheld my long-lost angel love.
“Back!” I shouted to the demon.
“Never!” in a measured tone he said,
“Till the final resurrection,
Till the earth and sea give up their dead.”
Then I smote him--
Smote him in the forehead and the eyes;
And I shouted,
“I will not be cozened by your lies!
Go to cowards
With your Hebrew husks and pious pelf,
FOR MY SOUL IS OLDER THAN THE TRUTH,
ONE WITH GOD HIMSELF.”
Then my blows fell fiercer, harder, hotter,
Till he yielded
Like the clay-formed vessel of a potter;
And I crashed into his brainless skull,
Smote his stony eyes out, cold and dull;
Into shards amorphous dashed his lips profane,
And, as brittle as a bubble,
Clove his shattered trunk in twain.
Then, as if God’s mill-stones surely
Had been given me in trust,
On the rock I stood securely,
And those fragments ground to dust.
But, O, God! what wondrous transformation
Seized me in its mighty grasp of power!
As a bud, by Nature’s potent magic,
Bursts at once into a perfect flower!
Like the record of a wise historian,
Lay unsealed the wondrous Book of Life;
Swelling grandly, like a chant Gregorian,
Perfect unison arose from strife;
And I knew then that this grim, defiant elf,
That this clay-born image, was my weaker self;
That this demon, Doubt, with which I held such strife,
Was the sense’s logic--the phenomena of life;
And as Perseus slew the fabled Gorgon,
Must this mocking fiend be met and slain,
That transfixed in cold and stony silence
Faith and Hope no longer might remain.
Only when the conscious soul asserted
What the flesh and sense so long concealed,
GOD WITHIN--ONE WITH THE WEAK AND HUMAN,
Did the INNER MYSTERY stand revealed.
O, what glorious consummation to my strife!
Death of Death! and Life unto Eternal Life!
All around, the grand and awful mountains
Hushed in silent reverence seemed to stand,
White and shining,
Like the pearly portals of the better land.
Then I heard the angels singing,
Soft and clear the sweet notes ringing,
Dropping gently like a golden rain
From the treasured wealth of day;
And I caught these words of blessing,
Floating down the heavenly way:--
SONG OF THE ANGELS.
“O, what is the life of the soul,
But the life of the Infinite Whole?
For God and his creatures are One,
As the tide from the ocean of light,
Which sets through the day and the night,
Is the same in the star-beam or sun.
“He hath laid out the sea and the land;
He hath balanced the Heavens in his hand;
And the Earth, in that order sublime,
How greatly and grandly she rolls,
And casts off her harvests of souls,
In the boundless fruition of Time!
“We ask not his face to behold;
Of his glory we need not be told;
For the Word of his witness is near.
His Life is the Infinite Light,
Which quickens our blindness to sight;
And he speaks that his children may hear.
“He suffers and sins with them all;
He stands, or he falls when they fall;
For he is both substance and breath.
Their strength from his greatness they draw;
His wisdom and will are their law;
And he is their Saviour in death.
“When the depths of all hearts are unsealed
Shall the word of his truth be revealed,
That MAN is by NATURE DIVINE;
And faith in God’s presence within,
Shall strengthen the spirit to win
A peace which no tongue can define.”
* * * * *
Then the music floated upward,
Where the light of parting day,
With its gold and crimson glory,
On the mountain summits lay;
And it left me longing, praying,
And with quickened steps essaying
Swift the nearest hights to gain,
That my captivated being
Might unto a clearer seeing
Of those fading forms attain.
And ere long, with hands uplifted,
Kneeling on the mountain high,
Out into the listening silence
Did I send my pleading cry:--
“O thou beauteous land of Beulah,
Just beyond my longing sight!
O ye bright ones, loved and lovely,
Dwelling in celestial light!
Leave, O! leave me not behind you
With the darkness and the night!”
In the sunshine and the shadow,
Then I saw an open door;
And a voice cried, “Come up hither!
Life is yours forevermore.”
Gales of Araby around me
Seemed to wave their fragrant wings;
Strains of music, low and tender,
Thrilled along celestial strings.
Like a spotless lily, blending
Matchless bloom and breath divine,
Did my lost one, long lamented,
Lay her soft white hand in mine;
And uplifted,
Strangely gifted,
With a power unknown before,
Did my love and I together
Enter at the open door.
* * * * *
Lo! again those bright immortals,
As their fadeless flowers they wreathe,
Words of greeting oft repeating,
Celebrate this festive eve.
Listen to their tuneful message
For the hearts that joy or grieve:--
SONG OF THE MINISTERING SPIRITS.
“Truth’s heralds bright,
With feet of light,
Upon Life’s mountains stand,
Sent to proclaim,
In God’s high name,
Glad tidings to the land.
With smiles of love
They wait above,
And, ‘Come up hither!’ cry.
When souls shall climb
Life’s hights sublime,
Then Death itself shall die.
“The little child,
Whose bright eyes smiled,
Whom angel-hands upbore,
The good, the kind,
The pure in mind,
Glide through Life’s open door.
With voices sweet,
Their lips repeat
The chorus of the sky:--
‘All souls shall be
From doubt made free,
And Death itself shall die.’
“Joy crowns with flowers
Life’s summer-hours,
When storms of sorrow cease;
And wintry snows,
And calm repose,
Bring thoughts of holy peace.
Thus pales or burns
Life’s star by turns,
As swift the moments fly;
But winter’s blight,
And sorrow’s night,
And Death itself, shall die.
“From Death’s abyss
To hights of bliss
Must souls immortal strive;
While loss and gain,
And peace and pain,
Shall keep their faith alive.
But higher still,
With tireless will,
Their course shall upward lie,
Till palms shall wave
Above the grave,
And Death itself shall die.”
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The garment which caused the death of Hercules.
[2] Since the above poem was given, through the pressure of public
opinion, she has been pardoned, and sent back to England.
[3] Socrates.
[4] Pronounced Ig-war-no-don.
[5] The name signifies a small laurel-wreath.
[6] If.
[7] Perhaps.
[8] Very great.
[9] Against.
[10] Every.
[11] Cunning.
[12] Daisy.
[13] Each tottering child.
[14] Humble cot.
[15] Walk crazily.
[16] Contrary.
[17] Referring to the dogma of the Immaculate Conception.
[18] Since.
[19] Mend.
[20] Sorrow.
[21] Very proud.
[22] Go astray.
[23] Praying.
[24] Birchen grove.
[25] Flowers.
[26] Larks.
[27] Running brooks.
[28] Dove.
[29] Friend.
[30] Money.
[31] Each.
[32] Heaven above.
[33] Shelter.
[34] My darling.
[35] I shall never see thee more.
[36] The favorite hymn of Theodore Parker.