Chapter XIII: Part 13

Lord, when Thy servant, doubting of Thy grace,
Went in despair from what she judged Thy frown
To search for comfort in an earthly town,
Despairing of all help in any place!
When she was sure, that not in any case
Could her demerits touch the longed for crown,
But rather sorrow, that would bring her down
Where no light comes, nor joy, nor Bridegroom’s face:

* * * * * * *

Then, in the chaos, lo, a plan revealed.
Lo, in the sand, the lilies of the field.
All thy blind servant’s darkness of untrust
Proven more wicked than her tongue can speak.
To her unfaith thou turn’dst the other cheek,
And, to her greed, gavest gold that cannot rust.

Lines, on the same occasion. This poem is known in Santa Barbara
as “The Vision of Camilla concerning Manuel.”

In the dark night I saw Death drawing near
To make me go from here;
In all my sin, with all my work undone,
Leaving behind my son
With no more stay nor path
Than what the wild horse hath.

I saw the souls of all my earthly friends
Laid bare, their aims and ends;
How some might love him, many help, but none
Be wisdom to my son.
Wisdom that is a road
Where no track showed,
A dawn, when no lamp glowed.

Thus in the night I heard Death come, I heard
The mouse shriek at the bird;
My sins came huddled to my bed, the bell
Dead hours did tell:
There was no light: only the tick of time:
Life, strangling in the slime.

Then in the multitude of souls I saw
A bright soul, without flaw,
Wearing a star upon her brow like heaven
In the green light of even.
However black (I knew) the night might turn
That star would burn.

She reached her hand to me and cried: “Death calls,
Time strikes, the hour falls.
And like a flight of birds the souls prepare
To whirl into the air,
To bring to be what none may understand.
I shall but light the hand . . .

Lo, here, the light upon my brow shall lead
Thy son until he bleed;
Until he fail, and falter, and despair.
Even in his blackest night I shall be there
My star will be his guidance: he will know
What light is, from its glow.”

A sonnet upon Ezekiel Rust.

Son of Isaiah Rust, of Churn, his wage
Was eighteenpence a day, working for Squire,
With rabbits twice a year, and sticks for fire,
In a stoopt cottage, broken-backt with age.

His life was among horses from his birth,
He uttered cries which horses understood,
He handled squire’s stallion in his mood.
Strange blood being in him from the ancient earth.

Often, when moons were full, he ranged the Downs,
Much like the fox, but liker to the hare
Who forms in the thymed grass in the hill air,
And sees from the hill edge, as the stars rise,
The glare in heaven above the market towns
And turns back to the midnight, being wise.

The Meditation of Carlotta in Prison.

This that I understand,
This that I touch with hand,
This body, that is I,
To-day will die.

O given Spirit, now taken,
Keep to this truth unshaken,
That the good thing, well-willed,
Becomes fulfilled.

The Meditation of Highworth Ridden.

I have seen flowers come in stony places;
And kindness done by men with ugly faces;
And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races;
So I trust, too.

The Comfort of Manuel, on Setting Forth defeated in the
_Venturer_.

Bad lies behind, worse lies before.
What stars there were are in us still;
The Moon, the Inconstant, keeps her will,
The Sun still scatters out his store,
And shall not Man do more?

When the worst comes, the worst is going:
As a gate shuts, another opes:
The power of man is as his hopes:
In darkest night the cocks are crowing.
In the sea roaring and wind blowing
Adventure: man the ropes.

* * * * *

THE LONDON AND NORWICH PRESS, LIMITED, ST. GILES’ WORKS, NORWICH

TRANSCRIBER NOTES

Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.

Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.

A Table of Contents has been added for reader convenience.