Any Saint
HIS shoulder did I holdToo high that I, o’erboldWeak one,Should lean thereon.
But He a little hathDeclined His stately pathAnd myFeet set more high;
That the slack arm may reachHis shoulder, and faint speechStirHis unwithering hair.
And bolder now and bolderI lean upon that shoulderSo dearHe is and near:
And with His aureoleThe tresses of my soulAre blentIn wished content.
Yes, this too gentle LoverHath flattering words to move herTo prideBy His sweet side.
Ah, Love! somewhat let be!Lest my humilityGrow weakWhen thou dost speak!
Rebate thy tender suit,Lest to herself imputeSome worthThy bride of earth!
A maid too easilyConceits herself to beThose thingsHer lover sings;
And being straitly wooed,Believes herself the GoodAnd FairHe seeks in her.
Turn something of Thy look,And fear me with rebuke,That IMay timorously
Take tremors in Thy arms,And with contrivèd charmsAllureA love unsure.
Not to me, not to me,Builded so flawfully,O God,Thy humbling laud!
Not to this man, but Man,—Universe in a span;PointOf the spheres conjoint;
In whom eternallyThou, Light, dost focus Thee!—Didst paveThe way o’ the wave;
Rivet with stars the Heaven,For causeways to Thy drivenCarIn its coming far
Unto him, only him;In Thy deific whimDidst boundThy works’ great round
In this small ring of flesh;The sky’s gold-knotted meshThy wristDid only twist
To take him in that net.—Man! swinging-wicket setBetweenThe Unseen and Seen;
Lo, God’s two worlds immense,Of spirit and of sense,WedIn this narrow bed;
Yea, and the midge’s hymnAnswers the seraphimAthwartThy body’s court!
Great arm-fellow of God!To the ancestral clodKin,And to cherubin;
Bread predilectedlyO’ the worm and Deity!Hark,O God’s clay-sealed Ark,
To praise that fits thee, clearTo the ear within the ear,But denseTo clay-sealed sense.
All the Omnific madeWhen in a word he said,(Mystery!)He uttered thee;
Thee His great utterance bore,O secret metaphorOf whatThou dream’st no jot!
Cosmic metonymy!Weak world-unshuttering key!OneSeal of Solomon!
Trope that itself not scansIts huge significance,Which triesCherubic eyes.
Primer where the angels allGod’s grammar spell in small,Nor spellThe highest too well.
Point for the great descantsOf starry disputants;EquationOf creation.
Thou meaning, couldst thou see,Of all which dafteth thee;So plain,It mocks thy pain;
Stone of the Law indeed,Thine own self couldst thou read;Thy blissWithin thee is.
Compost of Heaven and mire,Slow foot and swift desire!Lo,To have Yes, choose No;
Gird, and thou shalt unbind;Seek not, and thou shalt find;To eat,Deny thy meat;
And thou shalt be fulfilledWith all sweet things unwilled:So bestGod loves to jest
With children small—a freakOf heavenly hide-and-seekFitFor thy wayward wit,
Who art thyself a thingOf whim and wavering;FreeWhen His wings pen thee;
Sole fully blest, to feelGod whistle thee at heel;Drunk upAs a dew-drop,
When He bends down, sun-wise,Intemperable eyes;Most proud,When utterly bowed.
To feel thyself and beHis dear nonentity—CaughtBeyond human thought
In the thunder-spout of Him,Until thy being dim,And beDead deathlessly.
Stoop, stoop; for thou dost fearThe nettle’s wrathful spear,So slightArt thou of might!
Rise; for Heaven hath no frownWhen thou to thee pluck’st down,Strong clod!The neck of God.