Encincture small,

But infinite its grasp of weal and woe!

Hopes, fears, in never-ending ebb and flow; –

The spousal trembling, and the ›dust to dust,‹

The prayers, the contrite struggle, and the trust

That to the Almighty Father looks through all.

 

XLII
Cathedrals, etc.

Open your gates, ye everlasting Piles!

Types of the spiritual Church which God hath reared;

Not loth we quit the newly-hallowed sward

And humble altar, 'mid your sumptuous aisles

To kneel, or thrid your intricate defiles,

Or down the nave to pace in motion slow;

Watching, with upward eye, the tall tower grow

And mount, at every step, with living wiles

Instinct – to rouse the heart and lead the will

By a bright ladder to the world above.

Open your gates, ye Monuments of love

Divine! thou Lincoln, on thy sovereign hill!

Thou, stately York! and Ye, whose splendours cheer

Isis and Cam, to patient Science dear!

 

XLIII
Inside of King's College Chapel, Cambridge

Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense,

With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned –

Albeit labouring for a scanty band

Of white-robed Scholars only – this immense

And glorious Work of fine intelligence!

Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore

Of nicely-calculated less or more;

So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense

These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof

Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells,

Where light and shade repose, where music dwells

Lingering – and wandering on as loth to die;

Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof

That they were born for immortality.

 

XLIV
The Same

What awful pérspective! while from our sight

With gradual stealth the lateral windows hide

Their Portraitures, their stone-work glimmers, dyed

In the soft chequerings of a sleepy light.

Martyr, or King, or sainted Eremite,

Whoe'er ye be, that thus, yourselves unseen,

Imbue your prison-bars with solemn sheen,

Shine on, until ye fade with coming Night! –

But, from the arms of silence – list! O list!

The music bursteth into second life;

The notes luxuriate, every stone is kissed

By sound, or ghost of sound, in mazy strife;

Heart-thrilling strains, that cast, before the eye

Of the devout, a veil of ecstasy!

 

XLV
Continued

They dreamt not of a perishable home

Who thus could build. Be mine, in hours of fear

Or grovelling thought, to seek a refuge here;

Or through the aisles of Westminster to roam;

Where bubbles burst, and folly's dancing foam

Melts, if it cross the threshold; where the wreath

Of awe-struck wisdom droops: or let my path

Lead to that younger Pile, whose sky-like dome

Hath typified by reach of daring art

Infinity's embrace; whose guardian crest,

The silent Cross, among the stars shall spread

As now, when She hath also seen her breast

Filled with mementos, satiate with its part

Of grateful England's overflowing Dead.

 

XLVI
Ejaculation

Glory to God! and to the Power who came

In filial duty, clothed with love divine,

That made His human tabernacle shine

Like Ocean burning with purpureal flame;

Or like the Alpine Mount, that takes its name

From roseate hues, far kenned at morn and even,

In hours of peace, or when the storm is driven

Along the nether region's rugged frame!

Earth prompts – Heaven urges; let us seek the light,

Studious of that pure intercourse begun

When first our infant brows their lustre won;

So, like the Mountain, may we grow more bright

From unimpeded commerce with the Sun,

At the approach of all-involving night.

 

XLVII
Conclusion

Why sleeps the future, as a snake enrolled,

Coil within coil, at noon-tide? For the WORD

Yields, if with unpresumptuous faith explored,

Power at whose touch the sluggard shall unfold

His drowsy rings. Look forth! – that Stream behold,

THAT STREAM upon whose bosom we have passed

Floating at ease while nations have effaced

Nations, and Death has gathered to his fold

Long lines of mighty Kings – look forth, my Soul!

(Nor in this vision be thou slow to trust)

The living Waters, less and less by guilt

Stained and polluted, brighten as they roll,

Till they have reached the eternal City – built

For the perfècted Spirits of the just!

 

.