Love’s Miracle

Behold what Angel brought new trust
    To one who fed the sunless thought
That souls are not[??] and hearts are dust,–
And on his cynic spirit thrust
    The broad, sweet wisdom faith has taught.

While sense, half-prescient of her wings,
    Lay smothered in her close cocoon,
And doubt shook out from holy things
The dust of years, and lift in stings
    Of vanishing numbness rose from swoon.

And led the Wanderer by the sheen
    Of crescent places, o’er the west
Hung, in that purple sea between
The golden Shall-be and Has-been,—
    Love met him and became his guest!

A merry Cook of trooping joys,
    A calm, sweet sisterhood of blisses,
Came in her train, with songs and noise
Of musical laughter, like brave boys
    And blithe girls, greeting him with kisses;

And holy Peace, a Seraph Queen,
    Came with her, blue-eyed, clothed in white;
And floating from the pearly screen
Gold-fringed, that barred the blue serene,
    Made heaven of earth and day of night.

She moved among the golden sheaves;
    She walked in oak-glades dewy, dim,
Her forehead bound with olive leaves
Over calm brows, like sinless Eves,
    And, linked with Love, enfolded him.

A hum of children round her knees
    Made mellow music far along,
With flocks and herds on all the less,
And bird-songs fluting from the trees,
    Symphonious with the reaper’s song.

Where Love her silent influence shed,
    Earth slumbered dreaming of no ill;
Its greenness, dashed with white and red
Of rose-clump and of lily-bed,
    Seemed drowsy sweetness to distil.

And the murmur in the air,
    And all the music of his soul,
Made deeper stillness, everywhere,
Than utter silence in her lair,
    And hushed the pained earth’s jarring pole.

The world took color from his eye,
    And all he saw gave service free;
Over the deep sea a blue went by—
Against the pale blue of the sky.—
    His ships in white-robed majesty;

And plenty with a lavish hand
    That gave two bounties in each gift,
Shook golden largesse o’er the land,
And manhood’s ripening, calm and grand;
    For him wrought all the sons of thrift.

Art came and banished from his dreams
    The old, ignoble forms of men,
And music shook out starry gleams
Of all unutterable themes,
    To hint the perfect world again!

Till even now that world made rhyme
    Of all below with all above;
Life’s pulses beat Millennial time,
And humblest duties grew sublime
    In holy ministries of Love.