The South Aisle: The Creed XI

Shadows with us and phantoms dwell,
Nor can I now the vastness tell,
Wherein abides the Unchangeable.

The things which mightiest seem'd erewhile,
The tree — the lake — the rustic pile —
Thro' memory's glass in childhood seen,
When manhood re-beholds, how mean,
Poor and contracted is the scene !
Then what will all things seem below,
When opes the heart our God to know ?
Fain would I learn heart-stilling awe,
While to that change I nearer draw ;
One who is doom'd to rove the main
Will gaze on that untravell'd plain,
Early and late will thither come,
Forgetful of his rural home,
And view th' expanse that boundless lies,
Form'd of the blending sea and skies.

So would I gaze, ere I depart,
On that dread scene, and fill my heart,
Till gazing on reality,
All here shall shadows seem to me.
If freed from clouds of earthly care,
The soul becomes a mirror fair,
Where Truth from her empyreal shrines,
As in a secret palace shines,
Impregnating the crystal deeps,
Lightening the bed where darkness sleeps.

If music of that calmer sphere
Find in the heart a mansion clear,
It with each virtue fills the soul,
And moulds to an harmonious whole ;
As runs the air the organ round,
And modulates the varied sound, —
Each pipe and stop in breathing gold
Answers with voices manifold.

Nor marvel that, where'er it range,
Heaven's breath should work such wondrous change.
At Spring goes forth a viewless Power,
On leaf, on wing, on bird, on flower,
From buried Winter's winding-sheet
Wakening a sound or colour sweet,
Sky-tinctur'd plants, and feather'd things,
Fluttering upon melodious wings.
'Tis so with meaner sights of earth ; —
The light of our Baptismal birth, —
Shall it not turn each cross and care
Into some glorious form as fair,
Tho' eye and ear see nothing there ?

I know not much, I cannot tell,
I cannot see th' Invisible ;
But much I see for thoughtful praise ;
Tho' hedg'd with ill our mortal days,
The darker is the avenue,
More bright beyond Heaven's portal blue ;
And if a cloud should linger there,
'Tis passed — Heaven's gate again is fair.
If pride should lead to wanderings vain,
Remorse will oft restore ; — again
Awe-struck beneath that Creed we stand,
Its glories opening on each hand,
As vastness of the Heavens beyond
Bursts forth, struck by Night's ebon wand.