A Castle-Builder’s World

“The line of confusion, and the stones of emptiness.”

Unripe harvest there hath none to reap it From the misty gusty place, Unripe vineyard there hath none to keep it In unprofitable space. Living men and women are not found there, Only masks in flocks and shoals; Flesh-and-bloodless hazy masks surround there, Ever wavering orbs and poles; Flesh-and-bloodless vapid masks abound there, Shades of bodies without souls.

“These all wait upon Thee.”

Innocent eyes not ours Are made to look on flowers, Eyes of small birds and insects small: Morn after summer morn The sweet rose on her thorn Opens her bosom to them all. The least and last of things That soar on quivering wings, Or crawl among the grass blades out of sight, Have just as clear a right To their appointed portion of delight As Queens or Kings.

“Doeth well...doeth better.”

My love whose heart is tender said to me, “A moon lacks light except her sun befriend her. Let us keep tryst in heaven, dear Friend,” said she, My love whose heart is tender.

From such a loftiness no words could bend her: Yet still she spoke of “us” and spoke as “we,” Her hope substantial, while my hope grew slender.

Now keeps she tryst beyond earth’s utmost sea, Wholly at rest, tho storms should toss and rend her; And still she keeps my heart and keeps its key, My love whose heart is tender.

Our heaven must be within ourselves, Our home and heaven the work of faith All thro’ this race of life which shelves Downward to death.

So faith shall build the boundary wall, And hope shall plant the secret bower, That both may show magnifical With gem and flower.

While over all a dome must spread, And love shall be that dome above; And deep foundations must be laid, And these are love.