Oh, Think Not That the Bosom's Light

Oh think not that the bosom's light
Must dimly shine, its fire be low,
Because it doth not all invite
To feel its warmth and share its glow.
The altar's strong and steady blaze
On all around may coldly shine,
But only genial warmth conveys
To those who gather near the shrine.
The lamp within the festal hall
Doth not more clear and brightly burn
Than that, which shrouded by the pall,
Lights but the cold funereal urn.
The fire which lives through one brief hour,
More sudden beat perchance reveals
Than that whose tenfold strength and power
Its own unmeasured depth conceals.
Brightly the summer cloud may glide
But bear no heat within its breast,
Though all its gorgeous folds are dyed
In the full glories of the west:
'Tis that which through the darken'd sky,
Surrounded by no radiance, sweeps —
In which, conceal'd from every eye,
The wild and vivid lightning sleeps.
Do the dull flint, the rigid steel,
Which thou within thy hand mayst hold,
Unto thy sight or touch reveal
The hidden power which they enfold?
But take those cold, unyielding things,
And beat their edges till you tire,
And every atom forth that springs
Is a bright spark of living fire:
Each particle, so dull and cold
Until the blow that woke it came,
Did still within it slumbering hold
A power to wrap the world in flame.
What is there, when thy sight is turn'd
To the volcano's icy crest,
By which the fire can be discern'd
That rages in its silent breast;
Which hidden deep, but quenchless still,
Is at its work of sure decay,
And will not cease to burn until
It wears its giant heart away.
The mountain's side upholds in pride
Its head amid the realms of snow,
And gives its bosom depth to hide
The burning mass which lies below.
While thus in things of sense alone
Such truths from sense lie still conceal'd,
How can the living heart be known,
Its secret, inmost depths reveal'd?
Oh, many an overburden'd soul
Has been at last to madness wrought,
While proudly struggling to control.
Its burning and consuming thought —
When it had sought communion long,
And had been doom'd in vain to seek
For feelings far too deep and strong
For heart to bear or tongue to speak!