  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, 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,— 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. 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 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; 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. 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. 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. 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, 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, 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: |
|
