The Sword of Song

PENTECOST 33 So still and cold, a frost so chill, That all the glaciers be still ? Yet in its peace no frost. Arise ! Over the mountains steady stand, O sun of glory, in the skies Alone, above, unmoving ! Brand Thy sigil, thy resistless might, The abundant imminence of light ! Ah ! O in the silence, in the dark, In the intangible, unperfumed, Ingust abyss, abide and mark The mind’s magnificence asssumed In the soul’s splendour ! Hear is peace ; Here earnest of assured release. Here is the formless all-pervading Spirit of the World, rising, fading Into a glory subtler still. Here the intense abode of Will Closes its gates, and in the hall Is solemn sleep of festival. Peace ! Peace ! Silence of peace ! O visionless abode ! Cease ! Cease ! Through the dark veil press on ! The veil Is rent asunder, the stars pale, The suns vanish, the moon drops, The chorus of the spirit stops, But one note swells. Mightiest souls Of bard and music maker, rolls Over your loftiest crowns the wheel Of that abiding bliss. Life flees Down corridors of centuries Pillar by pillar, and is lost. Life after life in wild appeal Cries to the master ; he remains And thinks not. Th e polluting tides Of sense roll shoreward. Arid plains Of wave-swept sea confront me. Nay ! Looms yet the glory through the grey, And in the darkest hours of youth I yet perceive the essential truth, 430 435 440 445 450 455 460 465 470