  From forth the hidden, brooding heart of Nature lifts a sigh, A wordless, dim beseech, as if of tremulous Life, A heave that groaning speaks, withal: “And what am I, And all my stars, and myriad thing, and Breath arife As with some doom that hears not, some blind call to be? Shall my mute yearning ever rend the pall of Night? This bond be lifted, and those wills be free? My heart swell holy t’ward some only Light?” “And shall my pains unburden, some glad voice be mine? The feuds surcease them—the brutal onset and the bitter stress? This chalice sweeten, flow with heavenly wine? My brood uncurse me, who how fain would bless, Till, O, some angeled Pity from these bowels leap, A sweeter wisdom of all ills make ease, And those dreams fulfil them that fond-haunt my sleep: Shall ever on my sore, o’erwatched brow sit promised Peace?” And out of stillier Deeps—unfathomed, shrouded than the tomb-hush came— A Vision rose upon her stony, sad, beblinded eyes:— A passioned Shrine, where smiling lay, in chastening flame, The white child, Truth—a seraph winging, ’gainst its mighty Rise, Past Pain and Evil, all fierce brood they bore; While Justice in the holy fire saints her purging rod For infinite Ruth: But ’bove them all, in state no other heaven wore, Abounding Patience sat, in likeness of unutterable God! |
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