https://sonett.fontane-place.de/ Sat, 27 Jun 2026 05:51:09 +0000 MyBB https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14802 Sun, 27 May 2007 13:50:55 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14802 The device a female figure writing,
while an Angel feeds the Lamp.

Steal softly in, for she, who sitteth there,
Pale in her watching, mindless of the night,
Alone with that faint taper’s gleaming light,
Thus findeth refuge from a world of care.

Oh! twine no chaplet for her brow; no voice
That tells of fame can make her heart rejoice!
She giveth form to visions of delight,
That throng the simple hearth-stone, and the soul

Alive to genial promptings, and would ask
Requitance of the same for her sweet task.
And should a cadence born of sorrow roll

Along a voice she may not all control,
Yet not the less an angel lurketh nigh
To feed life’s flickering lamp, and heavenward lift the eye.]]> The device a female figure writing,
while an Angel feeds the Lamp.

Steal softly in, for she, who sitteth there,
Pale in her watching, mindless of the night,
Alone with that faint taper’s gleaming light,
Thus findeth refuge from a world of care.

Oh! twine no chaplet for her brow; no voice
That tells of fame can make her heart rejoice!
She giveth form to visions of delight,
That throng the simple hearth-stone, and the soul

Alive to genial promptings, and would ask
Requitance of the same for her sweet task.
And should a cadence born of sorrow roll

Along a voice she may not all control,
Yet not the less an angel lurketh nigh
To feed life’s flickering lamp, and heavenward lift the eye.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14801 Sun, 27 May 2007 13:50:18 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14801
The rude and garish light, that all day long
With half-oppressive gladness walked the earth,
The bud to beauty forcing till it droops
Athirst. o’er-fraught with life; the bird of song,

Made weary with its own exulting mirth:
Now, softly o’er the vale and hill-side stoops
To gather back its beams; well-pleased to spread
A downy mantle o’er the exhausted land.

Sweet dew-distilling hour! though joy be fled
We mourn it not, thy balmings are so bland.
Thus fadeth life to her by whom I kneel,
Watching the pulse aweary of their play.

Thus twilight fancies o’er her senses steal
And life’s unquiet visions fade away.]]>
The rude and garish light, that all day long
With half-oppressive gladness walked the earth,
The bud to beauty forcing till it droops
Athirst. o’er-fraught with life; the bird of song,

Made weary with its own exulting mirth:
Now, softly o’er the vale and hill-side stoops
To gather back its beams; well-pleased to spread
A downy mantle o’er the exhausted land.

Sweet dew-distilling hour! though joy be fled
We mourn it not, thy balmings are so bland.
Thus fadeth life to her by whom I kneel,
Watching the pulse aweary of their play.

Thus twilight fancies o’er her senses steal
And life’s unquiet visions fade away.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14800 Sun, 27 May 2007 13:49:43 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14800
Oh, gem of beauty! borrowing from the day
All hues to crown thee in thy fleeting grace,
Why should a trace of sadness find a place,
Where all is brilliant, beautiful, and gay?

Thy sister gems endure, but thou dost feel
The touch of dissolution on thee steal,
Wasting thy brightness in a slow decay.
Thou art befitting type of human souls,

That in the cold, the glittering, fleeting dwell;
Whose hopes the present fill, whom sense controls,
And earth binds down with strong delusive spell.

Things that in use decay. Oh, dying gem!
Passing though fair, burning thyself away,
While we bewildered gaze, thy likeness is to them.]]>
Oh, gem of beauty! borrowing from the day
All hues to crown thee in thy fleeting grace,
Why should a trace of sadness find a place,
Where all is brilliant, beautiful, and gay?

Thy sister gems endure, but thou dost feel
The touch of dissolution on thee steal,
Wasting thy brightness in a slow decay.
Thou art befitting type of human souls,

That in the cold, the glittering, fleeting dwell;
Whose hopes the present fill, whom sense controls,
And earth binds down with strong delusive spell.

Things that in use decay. Oh, dying gem!
Passing though fair, burning thyself away,
While we bewildered gaze, thy likeness is to them.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14798 Sun, 27 May 2007 13:48:34 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14798
I.

Of tattered robe all recklessly the while
She climbed the rugged hill with eager feet,
Cought the first waking of the morning smile,
And felt her heart with joyous wonder beat,

As slowly past the mountain vapor swept,
Lifting itself in fleecy folds away
From lake, and stream, and grove, and vale, that slept
Within its down, like weary child from play.

A lisping girl she was, yet fair withal,
Who whith the buttercup and wild brook played,
Till labor claimed her for his daily thrall;

And she, in kirtle short and gown arrayed,
Left far behind her home in that sweet dell,
Blest with the hum of bees and song of whip-poorwill.

II.

Poor was the girl, yet still to grief unknown,
Save when a jagged stone she careless pressed,
Or trod on humble-bee, withouten shoon,
Or thorn projecting pierced her sun-burnt breast

Or tore the ringlets from her brow away,
Which after lined the active robin’s nest,
Who sang for her a more melodious lay.
What though thouse tangled locks might half disguise

The speaking lustre of her soul-full eyes!
What though were darkly stained her childish brow;
No inward pang its form of grace had riven;

And though its hue be fairer, softer, now,
Oh, doth it turn as innocent to Heaven!
Doth it now bend in prayer as sure to be forgiven!]]>
I.

Of tattered robe all recklessly the while
She climbed the rugged hill with eager feet,
Cought the first waking of the morning smile,
And felt her heart with joyous wonder beat,

As slowly past the mountain vapor swept,
Lifting itself in fleecy folds away
From lake, and stream, and grove, and vale, that slept
Within its down, like weary child from play.

A lisping girl she was, yet fair withal,
Who whith the buttercup and wild brook played,
Till labor claimed her for his daily thrall;

And she, in kirtle short and gown arrayed,
Left far behind her home in that sweet dell,
Blest with the hum of bees and song of whip-poorwill.

II.

Poor was the girl, yet still to grief unknown,
Save when a jagged stone she careless pressed,
Or trod on humble-bee, withouten shoon,
Or thorn projecting pierced her sun-burnt breast

Or tore the ringlets from her brow away,
Which after lined the active robin’s nest,
Who sang for her a more melodious lay.
What though thouse tangled locks might half disguise

The speaking lustre of her soul-full eyes!
What though were darkly stained her childish brow;
No inward pang its form of grace had riven;

And though its hue be fairer, softer, now,
Oh, doth it turn as innocent to Heaven!
Doth it now bend in prayer as sure to be forgiven!]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14797 Sun, 27 May 2007 13:46:57 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14797
Not yet, not yet, oh pilgrim! cast aside
The dusty sandal, and the well-worn staff;
Athirst and fainting, yet must thou abide
One peril more, and strength in thy behalf

Shall once again be born – it is the last!
Thou sinkest by the lonely way-side down,
And life o’ver-spent, and weary, ebbeth fast –
The lengthening shadows on thy path are thrown,

And thou wouldst rest, forgetful of life’s dream,
Deluding, vain, and empty, and here die.
not yet, not yet, there still is left one gleam

To onward lure thy too despairing eye:
Gird on thy staff, the shrine is yet unwon,
Oh, lose not then the prize, by this last work undone.]]>
Not yet, not yet, oh pilgrim! cast aside
The dusty sandal, and the well-worn staff;
Athirst and fainting, yet must thou abide
One peril more, and strength in thy behalf

Shall once again be born – it is the last!
Thou sinkest by the lonely way-side down,
And life o’ver-spent, and weary, ebbeth fast –
The lengthening shadows on thy path are thrown,

And thou wouldst rest, forgetful of life’s dream,
Deluding, vain, and empty, and here die.
not yet, not yet, there still is left one gleam

To onward lure thy too despairing eye:
Gird on thy staff, the shrine is yet unwon,
Oh, lose not then the prize, by this last work undone.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14796 Sun, 27 May 2007 13:45:38 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14796
I.

Oh, leave me not alone ! the monarch bird,
Comes from his cloud-encompaddes height again
To listen where affection’s voice is heard,
“And stirreth up his nest!” nor yet in vain!

The wing, that steadied upward in the noonday sun,
And spurned the tempest with a cold disdain,
From Love alone that high empyrean won:
Home-luring love, when that proud flight is done.

Gently as dove he foldeth up the wing,
And tames the fierceness of the burning eye,
Where the loved one hath heard the breezes ring

Around the swaying pine, and deemed him nigh.
Warm from the nest he takes his heavenward flight,
For Love hath lent him wings to soar where all is bright.

II.

Oh, leave me not alone! dost thou but find
A dying echo to thine own dear voice,
Like that the zephyr-wing may leave behind,
When music bids the desert rocks rejoice,

Waking a sad low cadence, that when passed
Makes but the solitude more heavy weigh?
Yet stay! be thou responsive to the last,
To all, that this poor heart may rightly sway.

What though each day a newborn grief disclose.
And clouds return, althought the rain be o’er;
The cloud its fold of “silver lining” shows,

Which hope reveals more brightly evermore.
Oh, hush not thou this last impulsive thrill,
Oh, leave me not alone, to silence, deathful, still.]]>
I.

Oh, leave me not alone ! the monarch bird,
Comes from his cloud-encompaddes height again
To listen where affection’s voice is heard,
“And stirreth up his nest!” nor yet in vain!

The wing, that steadied upward in the noonday sun,
And spurned the tempest with a cold disdain,
From Love alone that high empyrean won:
Home-luring love, when that proud flight is done.

Gently as dove he foldeth up the wing,
And tames the fierceness of the burning eye,
Where the loved one hath heard the breezes ring

Around the swaying pine, and deemed him nigh.
Warm from the nest he takes his heavenward flight,
For Love hath lent him wings to soar where all is bright.

II.

Oh, leave me not alone! dost thou but find
A dying echo to thine own dear voice,
Like that the zephyr-wing may leave behind,
When music bids the desert rocks rejoice,

Waking a sad low cadence, that when passed
Makes but the solitude more heavy weigh?
Yet stay! be thou responsive to the last,
To all, that this poor heart may rightly sway.

What though each day a newborn grief disclose.
And clouds return, althought the rain be o’er;
The cloud its fold of “silver lining” shows,

Which hope reveals more brightly evermore.
Oh, hush not thou this last impulsive thrill,
Oh, leave me not alone, to silence, deathful, still.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14795 Sun, 27 May 2007 13:44:55 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14795
Shake thou thy spirit free; first learn to feel
That love doth bring its own exceeding good.
Cry not the “give,” this selfishness of mood,
Will bind thee down with bands of tempered steel.

Renounce thyself; from every loop-hole spurn
The dustiness of care; fresh as thy youth,
Child-like as in thy primal years, oh, learn
The meekness and the majesty of truth!

Thus unto thee shall light arise; thy trust,
Thy reverent lodgement of a holy guest,
Shall bring a blessing to thee; and the dust

Of earthly care no more shall on thee rest.
Thy love pure and eternal thus shall be
Perchance to bloom on earth-most sure in heaven for thee.]]>
Shake thou thy spirit free; first learn to feel
That love doth bring its own exceeding good.
Cry not the “give,” this selfishness of mood,
Will bind thee down with bands of tempered steel.

Renounce thyself; from every loop-hole spurn
The dustiness of care; fresh as thy youth,
Child-like as in thy primal years, oh, learn
The meekness and the majesty of truth!

Thus unto thee shall light arise; thy trust,
Thy reverent lodgement of a holy guest,
Shall bring a blessing to thee; and the dust

Of earthly care no more shall on thee rest.
Thy love pure and eternal thus shall be
Perchance to bloom on earth-most sure in heaven for thee.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14794 Sun, 27 May 2007 13:44:23 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14794
There is a solitude the mind creates,
A solitude, of holy thought, profound –
Alone, save there the “Soul’s Ideal” waits,
It maketh to itself a hallowed ground.

Lo! the proud eagle when he highest soars,
Leaves the dim earth and shadows far behind –
Alone, the thunder cloud around him roars,
And the reft pinion flutters in the wind –

Alone, he soars where higher regions sleep,
And the calm ether owns nor storm nor cloud –
And thus the soul its upward way must keep,

And leave behind the tempest ringing loud –
Alone, to God bear up its heavy weight
Of human hope and fear, nor feel “all desolate.”]]>
There is a solitude the mind creates,
A solitude, of holy thought, profound –
Alone, save there the “Soul’s Ideal” waits,
It maketh to itself a hallowed ground.

Lo! the proud eagle when he highest soars,
Leaves the dim earth and shadows far behind –
Alone, the thunder cloud around him roars,
And the reft pinion flutters in the wind –

Alone, he soars where higher regions sleep,
And the calm ether owns nor storm nor cloud –
And thus the soul its upward way must keep,

And leave behind the tempest ringing loud –
Alone, to God bear up its heavy weight
Of human hope and fear, nor feel “all desolate.”]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14793 Sun, 27 May 2007 13:41:12 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14793 Life
Suggested by Cole’s four paintings
representing the voyage of life


Childhood

Thou poet-painter, preacher of great truth,
Far more suggestive thine than written tome –
Lo, we return with thee to that vast dome,
Dim cavern of the past. Visions uncouth,

Vague, rayless, all impalpable in sooth,
Send back the startled soul. The waters come
All tranquilly from that dim cavern forth,
The mystic tide of human life. A child,

Borne on its bosom, sports with blossoms wild.
A Presence, felt, but still unseen, the boat
With gentle hand guides onward, and beguiled

With music lost in other years, they float
Upon the stream. The hours unfelt, for life
Is joy in its first voyage, with light and blossoms rife.


Youth

Alas, the Spirit lingers, but its hand
No more the barque sustains. The daring youth
Has seized the helm, and deeper launches forth,
His eye amid illusions of ideal land –

Bright castles built in air, that seem to stand,
Though still receding – while from rosy bowers
Each laurel-crowned appears, Fame, Glory, Worth.
He sports no more mid blossoms of green earth;

He hears no more the music of his birth;
The future lures him, pinnacles and towers,
And half he chides the lagging of the hours,

Unheeds their sunshine, blessedness, and mirth;
For onward is his course, he asks not where,
Since fancy paints the prospect passing fair.


Manhood

Still onward goes the barque – the tide
Bears it along where breakers foam and roar,
And oaks unbending, riven, line the shore;
Dense vapors rising, all the future hide;

And how shall he that fearful peril bide?
The guilding helm he eager grasps no more;
Time weighs the prow, the wave is deep beside;
Swift flows the current, fierce the gathering strife,

The struggle and the buffetings of life.
Half he recoils, yet calmly bides the test,
With hands clasped firmly on the unconquered breast;

Nor meets alone that hour with peril rife;
Forth from on high the guardian Spirit bends
With ministry of love, and holy valor sends.


Old Age

Thy mission is accomplished – painter – sage,
Look to thy crown of glory – for thy brow
Is circled with its radiant halo now.
No more earth’s turmoil will thy soul engage,

Its hopes unquiet, littleness, or rage.
With thine own voyager thou hast heard the sound
Of that vast ocean, waveless, rayless, dread,
Where time’s perpetual tribute, circling round,

Drops silent in, all passionless and dead.
When thine own voyage is o’er, and thou shalt near
The eternal wave, thus, thus above thy head

May opening glories shield thy heart from fear;
A child again, but strong in faith and prayer,
Thou shalt look meekly up-behold thy God is there!]]> Life
Suggested by Cole’s four paintings
representing the voyage of life


Childhood

Thou poet-painter, preacher of great truth,
Far more suggestive thine than written tome –
Lo, we return with thee to that vast dome,
Dim cavern of the past. Visions uncouth,

Vague, rayless, all impalpable in sooth,
Send back the startled soul. The waters come
All tranquilly from that dim cavern forth,
The mystic tide of human life. A child,

Borne on its bosom, sports with blossoms wild.
A Presence, felt, but still unseen, the boat
With gentle hand guides onward, and beguiled

With music lost in other years, they float
Upon the stream. The hours unfelt, for life
Is joy in its first voyage, with light and blossoms rife.


Youth

Alas, the Spirit lingers, but its hand
No more the barque sustains. The daring youth
Has seized the helm, and deeper launches forth,
His eye amid illusions of ideal land –

Bright castles built in air, that seem to stand,
Though still receding – while from rosy bowers
Each laurel-crowned appears, Fame, Glory, Worth.
He sports no more mid blossoms of green earth;

He hears no more the music of his birth;
The future lures him, pinnacles and towers,
And half he chides the lagging of the hours,

Unheeds their sunshine, blessedness, and mirth;
For onward is his course, he asks not where,
Since fancy paints the prospect passing fair.


Manhood

Still onward goes the barque – the tide
Bears it along where breakers foam and roar,
And oaks unbending, riven, line the shore;
Dense vapors rising, all the future hide;

And how shall he that fearful peril bide?
The guilding helm he eager grasps no more;
Time weighs the prow, the wave is deep beside;
Swift flows the current, fierce the gathering strife,

The struggle and the buffetings of life.
Half he recoils, yet calmly bides the test,
With hands clasped firmly on the unconquered breast;

Nor meets alone that hour with peril rife;
Forth from on high the guardian Spirit bends
With ministry of love, and holy valor sends.


Old Age

Thy mission is accomplished – painter – sage,
Look to thy crown of glory – for thy brow
Is circled with its radiant halo now.
No more earth’s turmoil will thy soul engage,

Its hopes unquiet, littleness, or rage.
With thine own voyager thou hast heard the sound
Of that vast ocean, waveless, rayless, dread,
Where time’s perpetual tribute, circling round,

Drops silent in, all passionless and dead.
When thine own voyage is o’er, and thou shalt near
The eternal wave, thus, thus above thy head

May opening glories shield thy heart from fear;
A child again, but strong in faith and prayer,
Thou shalt look meekly up-behold thy God is there!]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14792 Sun, 27 May 2007 13:40:14 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14792
A child of thine, a wildered boy once lived
In cottage rude beside the restless sea.
A slip of land where scarcely even thrived
The wildest plants, samphire and rosemary:

Little was there to lure the steps aside,
There the hoarse breaker and the heaving sand;
And yet I marked when inward swelled the tide,
And the loud tempest surged upon the strand,

Urgin the shelterless to shelter nigh,
The sea-bird beat his wing upon the cot
And sank exhausted for the storm was high.

Allured by that strange light he sought the spot
With drenched wing, and found it but to die,
And wildly through the night arose his lonely cry.]]>
A child of thine, a wildered boy once lived
In cottage rude beside the restless sea.
A slip of land where scarcely even thrived
The wildest plants, samphire and rosemary:

Little was there to lure the steps aside,
There the hoarse breaker and the heaving sand;
And yet I marked when inward swelled the tide,
And the loud tempest surged upon the strand,

Urgin the shelterless to shelter nigh,
The sea-bird beat his wing upon the cot
And sank exhausted for the storm was high.

Allured by that strange light he sought the spot
With drenched wing, and found it but to die,
And wildly through the night arose his lonely cry.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14791 Sun, 27 May 2007 13:39:38 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14791
Guest after guest departs! the heart that erst
Seemed a bright portal all in garlands dressed,
To which the rosy-crowned and joyous pressed,
Findeth ere long that each a thorn had nursed

Whith which to pierce the too unwary breast.
Vainly we fold a mantle o’er each guest
Willing to bide the thorn, if through it may
A nobler gladness in the soul arise.

Vainly we hope their footsteps to delay,
They leave the pang and one by one depart,
Till cold and desolate the portal lies.

Yet not all desolate – a calm pale face
Looks in, then enters the despoiled heart,
And all is hushed and still, for Duty fills the place.]]>
Guest after guest departs! the heart that erst
Seemed a bright portal all in garlands dressed,
To which the rosy-crowned and joyous pressed,
Findeth ere long that each a thorn had nursed

Whith which to pierce the too unwary breast.
Vainly we fold a mantle o’er each guest
Willing to bide the thorn, if through it may
A nobler gladness in the soul arise.

Vainly we hope their footsteps to delay,
They leave the pang and one by one depart,
Till cold and desolate the portal lies.

Yet not all desolate – a calm pale face
Looks in, then enters the despoiled heart,
And all is hushed and still, for Duty fills the place.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14790 Sun, 27 May 2007 13:39:11 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14790
A reverent worshipper, oh, Trith! of thee,
I bow, with foot unsandalled, wheresoe’er
Thy voice may whisper “holy ground is here.”
Amid uncertain paths, thy light may be

Dim to my wavering feet; yet unto me,
Intently waiting, once again, more clear,
More tranquil, doth thy holy light appear,
As minding me how dreary earth were left,

A dark, bewildering waste of thee bereft.
Should not thy temple be transparent, Truth?
Should not thy undimed altar-fires arise

Brightest in human hearts? In our first youth
Unchecked we worship there, with fearless eyes!
Thou art not exiled thence, oh, spirit of the skies!]]>
A reverent worshipper, oh, Trith! of thee,
I bow, with foot unsandalled, wheresoe’er
Thy voice may whisper “holy ground is here.”
Amid uncertain paths, thy light may be

Dim to my wavering feet; yet unto me,
Intently waiting, once again, more clear,
More tranquil, doth thy holy light appear,
As minding me how dreary earth were left,

A dark, bewildering waste of thee bereft.
Should not thy temple be transparent, Truth?
Should not thy undimed altar-fires arise

Brightest in human hearts? In our first youth
Unchecked we worship there, with fearless eyes!
Thou art not exiled thence, oh, spirit of the skies!]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14789 Sun, 27 May 2007 13:38:42 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14789
Think better of thy fellows – ye who dare
Stop the warm current of a brother’s heart;
‘T is not to mark the death-damp of his fear
And mortal agony, when ye shall part

The soul from its strong tenement – not this –
Not this doth call them from their secret ways,
From haunts of crime, and nature’s seats of bliss,
Toil-worn and travel-stained for many days:

No! even we, in chambers pent, like them,
Feel the wild anguish of a fellow’s pang –
The pleading of a pulse, which ye condemn,

That calls us forth as if a bugle rang.
The wronger is the wronged, such impulse lies
In every human heart when thus a brother dies.]]>
Think better of thy fellows – ye who dare
Stop the warm current of a brother’s heart;
‘T is not to mark the death-damp of his fear
And mortal agony, when ye shall part

The soul from its strong tenement – not this –
Not this doth call them from their secret ways,
From haunts of crime, and nature’s seats of bliss,
Toil-worn and travel-stained for many days:

No! even we, in chambers pent, like them,
Feel the wild anguish of a fellow’s pang –
The pleading of a pulse, which ye condemn,

That calls us forth as if a bugle rang.
The wronger is the wronged, such impulse lies
In every human heart when thus a brother dies.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14788 Sun, 27 May 2007 13:34:48 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14788
Beware of doubt – faith is the subtle chain,
Which binds us to the Infinite: the voice
Of a deep life within, that will remain
Until we crowd it thence. We may rejoice

With an exceeding joy, and make our life,
Ay, this external life, become a part
Of that which is within, o’erwrought and rife
With faith, that child-like blessedness of heart.

The order and the harmony inborn
With a perpetual hymning crown our way,
Till callousness, and selfishness, and scorn,

Shall pass as clouds where scatheless lightnings play.
Cling to thy faith, ‘tis higher than the thought
That questions of thy faith, the cold external doubt.


Reason

The Infinite speaks in our silent hearts
And draws our being to Himself, as deep
Calleth unto deep. He, who all thought imparts,
Demands the pleadge, the bond of soul to keep:

But reason, wandering from its fount afar,
And stooping downward, breaks the subtle chain
That binds it to itself, like star to star,
And sun to sun, upward to God again:

Doubt, once confirmed, tolls the dead spirit’s knell,
And man is but a clod of earth, to die
Like the poor beast that in his shambles fell –

More miserable doom, than that to lie
In trembling torture, like believing ghosts
Who, thought divorced from good, bow to the Lord of Hosts


Annihilation

Doubt, Cypress crowned, upon a ruined arch
Amid the shapely temple overthrown,
Exultant, stays at length her onward march.
Her victim, all with earthliness o’ergrown,

Hath sunk himself to earth to perish there;
His thoughts are outward, all his love a blight,
Dying, deluding are his hopes though fair –
And death, the spirit’s everlasting night.

Thus, midnight travellers, on some mountain steep,
Hear far above the avalanche boom down,
Starting the glacier echoes from their sleep,

And lost in glens to human foot unknown –
The death-plunge of the lost come to their ear,
And silence claims again her region cold and drear.]]>
Beware of doubt – faith is the subtle chain,
Which binds us to the Infinite: the voice
Of a deep life within, that will remain
Until we crowd it thence. We may rejoice

With an exceeding joy, and make our life,
Ay, this external life, become a part
Of that which is within, o’erwrought and rife
With faith, that child-like blessedness of heart.

The order and the harmony inborn
With a perpetual hymning crown our way,
Till callousness, and selfishness, and scorn,

Shall pass as clouds where scatheless lightnings play.
Cling to thy faith, ‘tis higher than the thought
That questions of thy faith, the cold external doubt.


Reason

The Infinite speaks in our silent hearts
And draws our being to Himself, as deep
Calleth unto deep. He, who all thought imparts,
Demands the pleadge, the bond of soul to keep:

But reason, wandering from its fount afar,
And stooping downward, breaks the subtle chain
That binds it to itself, like star to star,
And sun to sun, upward to God again:

Doubt, once confirmed, tolls the dead spirit’s knell,
And man is but a clod of earth, to die
Like the poor beast that in his shambles fell –

More miserable doom, than that to lie
In trembling torture, like believing ghosts
Who, thought divorced from good, bow to the Lord of Hosts


Annihilation

Doubt, Cypress crowned, upon a ruined arch
Amid the shapely temple overthrown,
Exultant, stays at length her onward march.
Her victim, all with earthliness o’ergrown,

Hath sunk himself to earth to perish there;
His thoughts are outward, all his love a blight,
Dying, deluding are his hopes though fair –
And death, the spirit’s everlasting night.

Thus, midnight travellers, on some mountain steep,
Hear far above the avalanche boom down,
Starting the glacier echoes from their sleep,

And lost in glens to human foot unknown –
The death-plunge of the lost come to their ear,
And silence claims again her region cold and drear.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14787 Sun, 27 May 2007 13:33:38 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14787
Earth beareth many pangs of guilt and wrong
Hunger, and chains, and nakedness, all cry
From out the ground to Him, whose searching eye
Sees blood like slinking serpents steal along

The dusty way, rank grass, and flowers among.
His the dread voice —" Where is thy brother?" Why
Sit we here weaving our common griefs to song,
While that eternal call, forth bids us fly

From self, and wake to human good? The near,
The humble, it may be, yet —God-appointed!
If greatly girded, cast aside thy fear

In solemn trust, thou mission’d and anointed!
Oh! glorious task! made free from petty strife,
Thy Truth becomes an Act, — thy Aspiration —Life.!]]>
Earth beareth many pangs of guilt and wrong
Hunger, and chains, and nakedness, all cry
From out the ground to Him, whose searching eye
Sees blood like slinking serpents steal along

The dusty way, rank grass, and flowers among.
His the dread voice —" Where is thy brother?" Why
Sit we here weaving our common griefs to song,
While that eternal call, forth bids us fly

From self, and wake to human good? The near,
The humble, it may be, yet —God-appointed!
If greatly girded, cast aside thy fear

In solemn trust, thou mission’d and anointed!
Oh! glorious task! made free from petty strife,
Thy Truth becomes an Act, — thy Aspiration —Life.!]]>