Poetry.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXI, Issue 2513, 18 August 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

Poetry.

THE SONG OF THE MYSTIC. | The following poem was composed by Father the poet priest of America. IT has been quoted by Kiifus King, a minister of the Society of Friends from America. and is published as a leaflet by the Sydney Ladies' United Evangelistic Association.] I walk down the valley of silence, Down the dim, voiceless valley—alone ! And I hear not the fall of a footstep Around ine—savo God's and my own ! And the hush of my heart is aa holy As hovers where angels have flown. Long ago I was weary of voices, Whose mnßic my heart could not win ; Long ago I was weary of noises That fretted my soul with their din ; Long ago I was weary of places Where I met but the Human and Sin. And still did I pine for the perfect, And still found the false with the true; I sought 'mid the human for heaven, But caught a mere glimpse of its blue ; And I wept when the clouds of the mortal Veiled even that glimpse from my view. And I toiled on, heart tired of the Human; And I moaned 'mid the mazes of men, Till I knelt long ago at an altar. And heard a voice call me; 9ince then I walk down the Valley of Silence That liea far beyond mortal ken. Do yon ask what I found in the Valley ! 'Tis my trysting place with the Divine. And I fell at the feet of the Holy, And about me a voice said, "Be mine!" And then rose from the depth of my spirit An echo, " My heart shall be thine." Do you ask how I live in the valley? I weep, and I dream, and I pray; But my tears aro as sweet as the dewdrops That fall on the rosea in May; And my prayer, like a perfume from censor, Ascendeth to God night and day. In the hush of that Valley of Silence I dream all the songs that I sing ; And the music floats down the dim valley, Till each finds a word for a wingThat to men, like the doves of the deluge, The message of Peace they may sing. But far on the deep there are billows That never shall break on the beach ; And I have heard songs in the silence That never shall float into speech. And I have had dreams in the valley Too lofty for language to reach. And I have seen thoughts in the valley— Ah me ! how my spirit was stirred ; Anil they wear holy veils on their faces ; Their footsteps may scarcely be heard ; Thoy pass through the valley, like virgins, % Too pure for the touch of a word. Do vou ask me the place of the valley, Ye hearts that are harrowed by care? Itjietli afar between mountains, find God and his angels are there ; ''Arid one is the dark mount of sorrow, And one the bright mountain of prayer. THE HOUSE OF HATE. Mino enemy builded well, with the soft blue hills in sight; But betwixt his house and the hills I builded a house, for spite ; And the name thereof I set in the stonework over the gate, With the carving of bats and apes ; and I called it the House of Hate. And the front was alive with masks of malice and of despair, Horned demons that leered in stone, and women with serpent hair ; That whenever his glance would rest on the soft hills far and blue, It must fall on nnne evil work, and my hatred should pierce him through. And I said, " I will dwell herein, for beholding my heart's desire On my foe," and I knelt, and fain had brightened the hearth with fire; But the brands they would hiss and die, as with curses a strangled man, And the heart was cold from the hour that the House of Hate began. And I called in a voice of power, " Make ye merry all ye friends of mine, In the hall of my House of Hate, where is plentiful store and wine ; We will drink unhealth together, unto him I have foiled and fooled I" And they scared and they passed ine by; but I scorned to be thereby schooled. And I ordered my board for feast, and I drank in the topmost seat Choice grape from a curious cop; and the first it was wonder sweet; But the second was bitter indeed, and the third was bitter and black, And the gloom of the grave came on me, and I cast the cup to wrack. Alone, I was starke alone and the shadows were each a fear, And thinly I laughed, but once, for the echoes were 9trange to hear. And the wind on the stairway howled, as a green-eyed wolf might cry, And I heard my heart: I must look on the face of a man or die ! So I crept to my mirrored face, and I looked, and I saw it grow (By the light in my shaking hand) to the like of the masks of stone ; And with horror I shrieked aloud, as I flung my torch and fled ; And a fire-snake writhed where it fell, and at midnight the sky was red. And at mcrrn, when the Honao of Hate was a ruin, despoiled of flame, I fell at mine enemy's feet and besought him to slay my shame. But he looked in my eyes and siniled, and his eyes were calm and great: "You rave or have dreamed," he said ; " I saw not your House of Hate !" Lippincott's Magazine for May.