A Sermon

Midsummer, 1867.

We have heard many sermons, you and I,

And many more may hear,

When sitting quiet in cathedral nave,

With folded palms and faces meek and grave;-

But few like this one, dear.

We ofttimes watch together ‘fore the veil,

With reverent, gleaming eyes,

While priestly hands are busy with the folds,-

And pant to see the holy place, which holds

Life’s dreadest mysteries.

We watch weak, foolish fingers straying o’er

The broidered boss, to grasp

Vaguely at some small end of thread, and twist

And shake the glorious pattern into mist,

And leave us nought to clasp.

We watch, with eyes dilated, some strong hand

Of nerve and muscle, trace

The grand, faint outlines, erewhile undefined

To our slow earth-enfolded sense, and find

The great design-the shadow from behind-

Dawning before our face.

But seldom do we see, dear, you and I,

The pattern melt in light,

And all the shine flow out on us, uncheck’d-

With eyes of soul and not of intellect-

As we did see that night.

It was a summer-night-the sun was low,

But overlaid the sea,

And made gold-crystals of the wet sea-sand,

And drew our shadows short upon the strand

That stretched out shallowly.

It was a Sunday night-far off we heard

The solemn vesper-chime

From some grey wind-swept steeple by the shore,

Chanting “For ev-er-more! for ev-er-more!”

While the deep sea beat time.

We wandered far that night, dear, you and I,

We wandered out of reach,-

Until the golden distances grew grey,

And narrowed in the glory, as it lay

‘Mid horizon and beach.

We wandered far along the lonely waste,

Where seldom foot had trod;

The world behind us dared not to intrude-

The summer silence and the solitude

Were only filled with God.

We sat down on the sand there, you and I,

We sat down awed and dumb,

And watched the fiery circle fall and fall

Through solemn folds of purple, and the small

Soft ripples go and come.

There was not wind enough to stir the reeds

Around us, nor to curl

The sheeny, dimpled surface of the deep;

The waters murmured low, as half in sleep,

With measured swish and swirl.

Two sea-birds came and dabbled in the pools,

And cried their plaintive cry,

As their strong wings swept o’er us as we sat

(No profanation of the stillness that,

But added sanctity).

They flecked the crimson shallows with black streaks,

Low-wheeling to and fro,

Crying their bold, sweet cry, as knowing well

It was a place where God, not man, did dwell-

A father, not a foe.

*

Ah, we hear many sermons, you and I-

The poor words fall and drown;

But this, whose speech was silence, this has stirred

The stream of years,-and aye it will be heard

As when that sun went down!

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• A New Broom by Witt Wittmann by Anglo File
• A Form Of Women by Robert Creely by Anglo File
• A Sonnet Occasioned by the Bad Weather Which Hindered the Sports at New-Market in January, 1616 by William Drummond by Anglo File
• A Little Te Deum Of The Commonplace by John Oxenham by Anglo File
• Telephone Conversation by Wole Soyinka by Anglo File
• I think it rains by Wole Soyinka by Anglo File
• Dedication From Moremi by Wole Soyinka by Anglo File
• As Like The Woman As You Can by William Ernest Henley by William Ernest Henley
• A Thanksgiving by William Ernest Henley by William Ernest Henley
• At Queensferry by William Ernest Henley by William Ernest Henley
• A New Song to an Old Tune by William Ernest Henley by William Ernest Henley
• A Love By The Sea by William Ernest Henley by William Ernest Henley
• A Late Lark Twitters From The Quiet Skies by William Ernest Henley by William Ernest Henley
• A Dainty Thing’s The Villanelle by William Ernest Henley by William Ernest Henley
• Blithe Dreams Arise To Greet Us by William Ernest Henley by William Ernest Henley
• Beside The Idle Summer Sea by William Ernest Henley by William Ernest Henley
• Ballade Of Youth And Age by William Ernest Henley by William Ernest Henley
• Ballade Of Truisms by William Ernest Henley by William Ernest Henley
• Ballade Of A Toyokuni Colour-Print by William Ernest Henley by William Ernest Henley
• Ballade Of Midsummer Days And Nights by William Ernest Henley by William Ernest Henley

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