THE SOUL’S QUESTION Inscribed to Rev. A. Dwight Mayo

DEAR friend, in whom my soul abides, Who rulest all its wayward tides, Accept the feeble song I sing, And read aright my stammering.

As on my bed at night I lay, My soul, who all the weary day Had fought with thoughts of death and life, Began again the bitter strife.

This question would she ask, until My tired eyes with tears would fill, And overrun and fill again; So that I cried out in my pain—

“When thou art made a heap of earth, And all thy gain is nothing worth, Where shall I go? Shall I too die And fade in utter entity?

“Shall my fine essence be the sport Of idle chance and fade to nought; The morning dew upon the flower Dried by the sunlight in an hour?

“Doth God with careless eyes look down On peopled slope and crowded town, And, though he mark the sparrow’s death, Think nothing more of human breath?

“Or if I shall not die, but live— What other dwelling will he give In which to lead another life And wage anew the ended strife?

“Turn up to heaven thy streaming face, And glance athwart the starry space; What planet, burning in the blue, Shall hold thy life begun anew?”

I looked out on the still midnight, A thousand stars were flashing bright; Unclouded shone the sailing moon And filled with pallor all the room.

The earth was hid with silver snow, I heard the river’s steady flow, I saw the moonlight softly fall On running stream and mountain wall.

I found no peace in gazing here; The earth seemed cold and very drear; River and mountain bathed in light, Were grim and ghastly in my sight.

The mountain wall—a hand divine Drew on the sky its perfect line— Said to my soul, “Of this be sure, Thy race shall die, but I endure.

“And while I take the morning’s kiss On my brows bathed in crimson bliss Or listen to the eternal song The seven great spheres in heaven prolong.

“While on my sides the cedar grows Through summer’s suns and winter’s snows, Or while I rock my piny crown, Whose high tops draw the lightning down,

“So long as I in might endure I watch man fading, swift and sure; I smile, and whisper to my flowers, Man dieth and the earth is ours—”

A scalding tear rolled down my cheek, Through thickening sobs I strove to speak; “Are those the hills I saw to-night Mantled in pomp of purple light?”

All day the earth on every side Lay robed in vesture of a bride, While lit on snow-wreathed bush and tree The winter birds sang joyfully.

The river sparkled cold and keen With burnished tracts of wintry gleam; Above, the sky’s unclouded blue The smile of God on all things threw.

O’er hill and field elate I walked, With all things fair by turns I talked; I felt the God within me move And nothing seemed too mean for Love.

The flower of day that bloomed so fair Closed on the perfumed evening air; A holy calm o’er Nature stole And bathed in prayer my happy soul.

A golden glory caught the world;— High up the crimson clouds were curled, A purple splendor hid the sun A moment—and the day was done.

I gazed at will; my thankful eyes Were bathed in dews of Paradise; My heart ran out my God to meet, And clasped his knees and kissed his feet.

He led me like a little child Whereso he would; the darkness smiled Whereso we walked; such glory of light Enshrined him, making very bright

Whatever darkness veiled my mind; I looked on all the grief behind As on a fevered dream. To-night The peace is gone and gone the light

I prayed for sleep, an earnest prayer I thought that God would surely hear; Yet, though my tears fell fast and free, He kept his boon of sleep from me.

Again my soul her quest began— “Must I too fall beneath the ban? And, if I die not in thy death, Where shall I live who am but breath?

“When the frame stiffens into stone, And death and it are left alone, And round about it in the grave The rat shall gnaw and winds shall rave,

“Shall I within the dwelling stay To watch above the heap of clay, And while the dreary ages roll Lie housed in earth, a prisoned soul?”

If this be Hell, to sit and hear The hum of life from year to year, Yet have no part nor lot in all That men do on this earthly ball,

But sit and watch from hour to hour The slow decay of beauty and power, And when the last faint trace is gone To sit there still and still watch on,

While other men shall share my doom And other souls within the tomb Shall sit beside me dumb and pale Forever in that fearful vale—

With that, cold sweat ran down my face I rose up straightway in my place I lit my lamp, my Bible took And sat to read the blessed Book.

I turned the pages to and fro Not knowing where to read, and so Sat very still with tightened breath Till I could catch that one word—“death”

“Cain”—the page blackened as I read The awful name of him who led God’s curse like lightning down to earth, Blasting and scarring home and hearth.

I turned the page; I read the line Of those old men, the half divine, Of whom no record is supplied But, “thus he lived, and then, he died—”

Not any comfort could I find, A sudden sickness seized my mind, I felt my heart beat slow and weak I tried to pray, I could not speak.

Oh! bitterness beyond compare. When our last refuge fades to air; Where shall the hopeless soul repose, For who is there that surely knows?

I read how Saul in wild En-dor Questioned the witch, and what he saw. How Samuel’s ghost rose pale and grim Out of the grave and answered him.

I read the awful words he said— “Why am I thus disquieted?” “Disquieted”—what dreamless sleep Weighed on his eyelids calm and deep?

Thereat I shook from head to foot— I made no cry, my heart was mute; I could not call on God, nor pray, For all my faith had fled away.

As when a man, who in a dream To slide down some blank wall shall seem, Clutches at air, strikes out in vain His helpless hands and shrieks with pain,

While all the air with mocking eyes Is full, foul shapes and soundless cries That laugh to scorn his deadly fear With laughter that he swoons to hear,

And swooning wakes: my helpless soul Felt the dim waves above her roll, The firm earth slide beneath her feet, And all her agony complete.

I read that Christ had conquered Death By giving up his holy breath; And calling Lazarus by his name Had brought him back to life again.

What these things mean I cannot say; They do not drive my fear away, For where was Lazarus when he heard The voice of Christ pronounce that word?

Was he within the voiceless tomb Beside his sometime earthly home, Watching the slowly changing form Yield to the touch of mole and worm?

Or was he in some blessed place A saint, with glory in his face; And did he drop, a gliding star Down to the earth where mortals are?

And clothe himself in dust again To share the bitter life of men, To live a few dark years below And back again to glory go?

This thought raised up my fainting heart And somewhat eased the deadly smart, My lips began to move in prayer— My soul to breathe a freer air.

I prayed for peace, I prayed for trust; I prayed to feel that God is just; I prayed that let what would befall I still might trust Him over all.

And whether sunk in deadly gloom The soul must rest within the tomb; Or sit within God’s awful light To which the sun’s blaze is as night?

Or shape its course from life to life And waxing strong in endless strife, Through everlasting years pursue The work that God shall give to do?

I might, without a fear, lay down When he shall call, my earthly crown, Trusting that he who gave me breath Will keep me in the day of death.

I looked again upon the earth. The day rejoicèd in its birth; And on the sullen rack afar Trembled the fading morning star!