The Three Guides

Spirit of Earth! thy hand is chill:I've felt its icy clasp;And, shuddering, I remember stillThat stony-hearted grasp.Thine eye bids love and joy depart:Oh, turn its gaze from me!It presses down my shrinking heart;I will not walk with thee!

"Wisdom is mine," I've heard thee say:"Beneath my searching eyeAll mist and darkness melt away,Phantoms and fables fly.Before me truth can stand alone,The naked, solid truth;And man matured by worth will own,If I am shunned by youth.

"Firm is my tread, and sure though slow;My footsteps never slide;And he that follows me shall knowI am the surest guide."Thy boast is vain; but were it trueThat thou couldst safely steerLife's rough and devious pathway through,Such guidance I should fear.

How could I bear to walk for aye,With eyes to earthward prone,O'er trampled weeds and miry clay,And sand and flinty stone;Never the glorious view to greetOf hill and dale, and sky;To see that Nature's charms are sweet,Or feel that Heaven is nigh?

If in my heart arose a spring,A gush of thought divine,At once stagnation thou wouldst bringWith that cold touch of thine.If, glancing up, I sought to snatchBut one glimpse of the sky,My baffled gaze would only catchThy heartless, cold grey eye.

If to the breezes wandering near,I listened eagerly,And deemed an angel's tongue to hearThat whispered hope to me,That heavenly music would be drownedIn thy harsh, droning voice;Nor inward thought, nor sight, nor sound,Might my sad soul rejoice.

Dull is thine ear, unheard by theeThe still, small voice of Heaven;Thine eyes are dim and cannot seeThe helps that God has given.There is a bridge o'er every floodWhich thou canst not perceive;A path through every tangled wood,But thou wilt not believe.

Striving to make thy way by force,Toil-spent and bramble-torn,Thou'lt fell the tree that checks thy course,And burst through brier and thorn:And, pausing by the river's side,Poor reasoner! thou wilt deem,By casting pebbles in its tide,To cross the swelling stream.

Right through the flinty rock thou'lt tryThy toilsome way to bore,Regardless of the pathway nighThat would conduct thee o'erNot only art thou, then, unkind,And freezing cold to me,But unbelieving, deaf, and blind:I will not walk with thee!

Spirit of Pride! thy wings are strong,Thine eyes like lightning shine;Ecstatic joys to thee belong,And powers almost divine.But 'tis a false, destructive blazeWithin those eyes I see;Turn hence their fascinating gaze;I will not follow thee.

"Coward and fool!" thou mayst reply,Walk on the common sod;Go, trace with timid foot and eyeThe steps by others trod.'Tis best the beaten path to keep,The ancient faith to hold;To pasture with thy fellow-sheep,And lie within the fold.

"Cling to the earth, poor grovelling worm;'Tis not for thee to soarAgainst the fury of the storm,Amid the thunder's roar!There's glory in that daring strifeUnknown, undreamt by thee;There's speechless rapture in the lifeOf those who follow me.

Yes, I have seen thy votaries oft,Upheld by thee their guide,In strength and courage mount aloftThe steepy mountain-side;I've seen them stand against the sky,And gazing from below,Beheld thy lightning in their eyeThy triumph on their brow.

Oh, I have felt what glory then,What transport must be theirs!So far above their fellow-men,Above their toils and cares;Inhaling Nature's purest breath,Her riches round them spread,The wide expanse of earth beneath,Heaven's glories overhead!

But I have seen them helpless, dash'dDown to a bloody grave,And still thy ruthless eye has flash'd,Thy strong hand did not save;I've seen some o'er the mountain's browSustain'd awhile by thee,O'er rocks of ice and hills of snowBound fearless, wild, and free.

Bold and exultant was their mien,While thou didst cheer them on;But evening fell,--and then, I ween,Their faithless guide was gone.Alas! how fared thy favourites then,--Lone, helpless, weary, cold?Did ever wanderer find againThe path he left of old?

Where is their glory, where the prideThat swelled their hearts before?Where now the courage that defiedThe mightiest tempest's roar?What shall they do when night grows black,When angry storms arise?Who now will lead them to the trackThou taught'st them to despise?

Spirit of Pride, it needs not thisTo make me shun thy wiles,Renounce thy triumph and thy bliss,Thy honours and thy smiles!Bright as thou art, and bold, and strong,That fierce glance wins not me,And I abhor thy scoffing tongue--I will not follow thee!

Spirit of Faith! be thou my guide,O clasp my hand in thine,And let me never quit thy side;Thy comforts are divine!Earth calls thee blind, misguided one,--But who can shew like theeForgotten things that have been done,And things that are to be?

Secrets conceal'd from Nature's ken,Who like thee can declare?Or who like thee to erring menGod's holy will can bear?Pride scorns thee for thy lowly mien,--But who like thee can riseAbove this toilsome, sordid scene,Beyond the holy skies?

Meek is thine eye and soft thy voice,But wondrous is thy might,To make the wretched soul rejoice,To give the simple light!And still to all that seek thy wayThis magic power is given,--E'en while their footsteps press the clay,Their souls ascend to heaven.

Danger surrounds them,--pain and woeTheir portion here must be,But only they that trust thee knowWhat comfort dwells with thee;Strength to sustain their drooping pow'rs,And vigour to defend,--Thou pole-star of my darkest hoursAffliction's firmest friend!

Day does not always mark our way,Night's shadows oft appal,But lead me, and I cannot stray,--Hold me, I shall not fall;Sustain me, I shall never faint,How rough soe'er may beMy upward road,--nor moan, nor plaintShall mar my trust in thee.

Narrow the path by which we go,And oft it turns asideFrom pleasant meads where roses blow,And peaceful waters glide;Where flowery turf lies green and soft,And gentle gales are sweet,To where dark mountains frown aloft,Hard rocks distress the feet,--

Deserts beyond lie bleak and bare,And keen winds round us blow;But if thy hand conducts me there,The way is right, I know.I have no wish to turn away;My spirit does not quail,--How can it while I hear thee say,"Press forward and prevail!"

Even above the tempest's swellI hear thy voice of love,--Of hope and peace, I hear thee tell,And that blest home above;Through pain and death I can rejoice.If but thy strength be mine,--Earth hath no music like thy voice,Life owns no joy like thine!

Spirit of Faith, I'll go with thee!Thou, if I hold thee fast,Wilt guide, defend, and strengthen me,And bear me home at last;By thy help all things I can do,In thy strength all things bear,--Teach me, for thou art just and true,Smile on me, thou art fair!

I hoped, that with the brave and strong,My portioned task might lie;To toil amid the busy throng,With purpose pure and high.

But God has fixed another part,And He has fixed it well;I said so with my bleeding heart,When first the anguish fell.

Our treasured hope away:Thou bid'st us now weep through the nightAnd sorrow through the day.

These weary hours will not be lost,These days of misery,These nights of darkness, anguish-tost,Can I but turn to Thee.

With secret labour to sustainIn humble patience every blow;To gather fortitude from pain,And hope and holiness from woe.

Thus let me serve Thee from my heart,Whate'er may be my written fate:Whether thus early to depart,Or yet a while to wait.

If Thou shouldst bring me back to life,More humbled I should be;More wise--more strengthened for the strife--More apt to lean on Thee.

Should death be standing at the gate,Thus should I keep my vow:But, Lord! whatever be my fate,Oh, let me serve Thee now!