SURSUM
CORDA
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I
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The
wind on the sea,
The breath of God over the face of the deep,
Whispers a word
The tribes of his watery dominion rejoice having
heard.
To-day
through the vaultless chambers
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5 |
Of
the sea, below the range
Of light's great beam to fathom,
Soundless, unsearched of change,
There
passed more vague than a shadow
Which is, then is no more,
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10 |
The
aura and draft of being,
Like a breath through an open door.
The
myriad fins are moving,
The marvellous flanges play;
Herring and shad and menhaden;
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15 |
They
stir and awake and away.
Ungava,
Penobscot, Potomac,
Key Largo and Fundy side,
The droves of the frail sea people
Are arun in the vernal tide.
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20 |
The old sea hunger to herd them,
The old spring fever to drive,
Within them the thrust of an impulse
To wander and joy and thrive;
Below
them the lift of the sea-kale,
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Before
them the fate that shall be;
As it was when the first white summer
Drew the fog from the face of the sea. |
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II
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The
wind on the hills,
The breath of God over the tops of the trees, |
30 |
Whispers
a word
The tribes of his airy dominion rejoice having
heard.
Last
night we saw the curtain
Of the red aurora wave,
Through the ungirdered heaven
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35 |
Built
without joist or trave,
Fleeting
from silence to silence,
As a mirror is stained by a breath,—
The only sign from the Titan
Sleeping in frosty death. |
40 |
Yet over the world this morning
The old wise trick has been done;
Our legions of rovers and singers,
Arrived and saluting the sun.
The
myriad wings atremble,
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45 |
The
marvellous throats astrain,
Come the airy migrant people
In the wake of the purple rain.
One
joy that needs no bidding,
One will that does not quail;
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50 |
The
whitethroat up from the barren,
The starling down in the swale;
The honk and clamour of wild geese,
The call of the goldenwing;
From valley to lonely valley,
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55 |
| The
long exultation of spring. |
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III
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The
wind on the fields,
The breath of God over the face of the ground,
Whispers a word
The tribes of his leafy dominion rejoice having
heard. |
60 |
Crimson of Indian willow,
Orange of maple plume,
As a web of endless pattern
Falls from a soundless loom,
The
wide green marvel of summer
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65 |
Breaks
from catkin and sheath,
So silently only a spirit
Could guess at the spirit beneath.
For
these are the moveless people,
Who only abide and endure,
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70 |
Yet
no less feel their heart beat
To the lift of the wild spring lure.
These
are the keepers of silence,
Who only adore and are dumb,
With faith's own look of expecting
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75 |
The
bidding they know will come.
The
revel of leaves is beginning,
The riot of sap is astir;
Dogwood and peach and magnolia
Have errands they will not defer.
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80 |
In the long sweet breath of the rainwind,
In the warm, sweet hours of sun,
They arise at the Sursum corda,
A thousand uplifted as one. |
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IV
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| The
wind in the street, |
85 |
The
breath of God over the roofs of the town,
Whispers a word
The tribes of the Wandering Shadow rejoice having
heard.
The
tribes of the Wandering Shadow!
Ah, gypsying spirit of man,
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90 |
What
tent hast thou, what solace,
Since the nomad life began?
Forever,
wherever the springtime
Halts by the open door,
The heart-sick are healed in the sunshine,
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95 |
The
sorry are sad no more.
Something
brighter than morning
Washes the windowpane;
Something wiser than knowledge
Sits by the hearth again.
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100 |
Within him the sweet disquiet,
Before him the old dismay,
When the hand of Beauty beckons
The wayfarer must away.
"A
brother to him who needs me,
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105 |
A
son to her who needs;
Modest and free and gentle;"
This is his creed of creeds.
To-night
when the belt of Orion
Hangs in the linden bough,
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110 |
The
girl will meet her lover
Where the quince is crimson now.
For
the sun of a thousand winters
Will stop his pendulous swing,
Ere man be a misbeliever
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115 |
| In
the scarlet legend of spring. |
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