THE PRAYER OF AGASSIZ.
The island of Penikese in Buzzard's Bay was given by Mr. John Anderson to Agassiz for the uses of a summer school of natural history. A large barn was cleared and improvised as a lecture-room. Here, on the first morning of the school, all the company was gathered. "Agassiz had arranged no programme of exercises," says Mrs. Agassiz, in Louis Agassiz; his Life and Correspondence, "trusting to the interest of the occasion to suggest what might best be said or done. But, as he looked upon his pupils gathered there to study nature with him, by an impulse as natural as it was unpremeditated, he called upon then to join in silently asking God's blessing on their work together. The pause was broken by the first words of an address no less fervent than its unspoken prelude." This was in the summer of 1873, and Agassiz died the December following.
On the isle of Penikese, Ringed about by sapphire seas, Fanned by breezes salt and cool, Stood the Master with his school.
Over sails that not in vain Wooed the west-wind's steady strain, Line of coast that low and far Stretched its undulating bar, Wings aslant along the rim Of the waves they stooped to skim, Rock and isle and glistening bay, Fell the beautiful white day.
Said the Master to the youth "We have come in search of truth, Trying with uncertain key Door by door of mystery; We are reaching, through His laws, To the garment-hem of Cause, Him, the endless, unbegun, The Unnamable, the One Light of all our light the Source, Life of life, and Force of force.
As with fingers of the blind, We are groping here to find What the hieroglyphics mean Of the Unseen in the seen, What the Thought which underlies Nature's masking and disguise, What it is that hides beneath Blight and bloom and birth and death.
By past efforts unavailing, Doubt and error, loss and failing, Of our weakness made aware, On the threshold of our task Let us light and guidance ask, Let us pause in silent prayer!"
Then the Master in his place Bowed his head a little space, And the leaves by soft airs stirred, Lapse of wave and cry of bird, Left the solemn hush unbroken Of that wordless prayer unspoken, While its wish, on earth unsaid, Rose to heaven interpreted.
As, in life's best hours, we hear By the spirit's finer ear His low voice within us, thus The All-Father heareth us; And His holy ear we pain With our noisy words and vain.
Not for Him our violence Storming at the gates of sense, His the primal language, His The eternal silences!
Even the careless heart was moved, And the doubting gave assent, With a gesture reverent, To the Master well-beloved.
As thin mists are glorified By the light they cannot hide, All who gazed upon him saw, Through its veil of tender awe, How his face was still uplit By the old sweet look of it.
Hopeful, trustful, full of cheer, And the love that casts out fear.
Who the secret may declare Of that brief, unuttered prayer?
Did the shade before him come Of th' inevitable doom, Of the end of earth so near, And Eternity's new year?
In the lap of sheltering seas Rests the isle of Penikese; But the lord of the domain Comes not to his own again Where the eyes that follow fail, On a vaster sea his sail Drifts beyond our beck and hail.
Other lips within its bound Shall the laws of life expound; Other eyes from rock and shell Read the world's old riddles well But when breezes light and bland Blow from Summer's blossomed land, When the air is glad with wings, And the blithe song-sparrow sings, Many an eye with his still face Shall the living ones displace, Many an ear the word shall seek He alone could fitly speak.
And one name forevermore Shall be uttered o'er and o'er By the waves that kiss the shore, By the curlew's whistle sent Down the cool, sea-scented air; In all voices known to her, Nature owns her worshipper, Half in triumph, half lament.
Thither Love shall tearful turn, Friendship pause uncovered there, And the wisest reverence learn From the Master's silent prayer.
1873.
IN QUEST
Have I not voyaged, friend beloved, with thee On the great waters of the unsounded sea, Momently listening with suspended oar For the low rote of waves upon a shore Changeless as heaven, where never fog-cloud drifts Over its windless wood, nor mirage lifts The steadfast hills; where never birds of doubt Sing to mislead, and every dream dies out, And the dark riddles which perplex us here In the sharp solvent of its light are clear?
Thou knowest how vain our quest; how, soon or late, The baffling tides and circles of debate Swept back our bark unto its starting-place, Where, looking forth upon the blank, gray space, And round about us seeing, with sad eyes, The same old difficult hills and cloud-cold skies, We said: "This outward search availeth not To find Him. He is farther than we thought, Or, haply, nearer. To this very spot Whereon we wait, this commonplace of home, As to the well of Jacob, He may come And tell us all things." As I listened there, Through the expectant silences of prayer, Somewhat I seemed to hear, which hath to me Been hope, strength, comfort, and I give it thee.
"The riddle of the world is understood Only by him who feels that God is good, As only he can feel who makes his love The ladder of his faith, and climbs above On th' rounds of his best instincts; draws no line Between mere human goodness and divine, But, judging God by what in him is best, With a child's trust leans on a Father's breast, And hears unmoved the old creeds babble still Of kingly power and dread caprice of will, Chary of blessing, prodigal of curse, The pitiless doomsman of the universe.
Can Hatred ask for love? Can Selfishness Invite to self-denial? Is He less Than man in kindly dealing? Can He break His own great law of fatherhood, forsake And curse His children? Not for earth and heaven Can separate tables of the law be given.
No rule can bind which He himself denies; The truths of time are not eternal lies."
So heard I; and the chaos round me spread To light and order grew; and, "Lord," I said, "Our sins are our tormentors, worst of all Felt in distrustful shame that dares not call Upon Thee as our Father. We have set A strange god up, but Thou remainest yet.
All that I feel of pity Thou hast known Before I was; my best is all Thy own.
From Thy great heart of goodness mine but drew Wishes and prayers; but Thou, O Lord, wilt do, In Thy own time, by ways I cannot see, All that I feel when I am nearest Thee!"
1873.
THE FRIEND'S BURIAL.
My thoughts are all in yonder town, Where, wept by many tears, To-day my mother's friend lays down The burden of her years.
True as in life, no poor disguise Of death with her is seen, And on her simple casket lies No wreath of bloom and green.
Oh, not for her the florist's art, The mocking weeds of woe; Dear memories in each mourner's heart Like heaven's white lilies blow.
And all about the softening air Of new-born sweetness tells, And the ungathered May-flowers wear The tints of ocean shells.
The old, assuring miracle Is fresh as heretofore; And earth takes up its parable Of life from death once more.
Here organ-swell and church-bell toll Methinks but discord were; The prayerful silence of the soul Is best befitting her.
No sound should break the quietude Alike of earth and sky O wandering wind in Seabrook wood, Breathe but a half-heard sigh!
Sing softly, spring-bird, for her sake; And thou not distant sea, Lapse lightly as if Jesus spake, And thou wert Galilee!
For all her quiet life flowed on As meadow streamlets flow, Where fresher green reveals alone The noiseless ways they go.
From her loved place of prayer I see The plain-robed mourners pass, With slow feet treading reverently The graveyard's springing grass.
Make room, O mourning ones, for me, Where, like the friends of Paul, That you no more her face shall see You sorrow most of all.
Her path shall brighten more and more Unto the perfect day; She cannot fail of peace who bore Such peace with her away.
O sweet, calm face that seemed to wear The look of sins forgiven!
O voice of prayer that seemed to bear Our own needs up to heaven!
How reverent in our midst she stood, Or knelt in grateful praise!
What grace of Christian womanhood Was in her household ways!
For still her holy living meant No duty left undone; The heavenly and the human blent Their kindred loves in one.
And if her life small leisure found For feasting ear and eye, And Pleasure, on her daily round, She passed unpausing by,
Yet with her went a secret sense Of all things sweet and fair, And Beauty's gracious providence Refreshed her unaware.
She kept her line of rectitude With love's unconscious ease; Her kindly instincts understood All gentle courtesies.
An inborn charm of graciousness Made sweet her smile and tone, And glorified her farm-wife dress With beauty not its own.
The dear Lord's best interpreters Are humble human souls; The Gospel of a life like hers Is more than books or scrolls.
From scheme and creed the light goes out, The saintly fact survives; The blessed Master none can doubt Revealed in holy lives.
1873.