| |
| TO thee, O father of the stately peaks, | |
| Above me in the loftier light—to thee, | |
| Imperial brother of those awful hills, | |
| Whose feet are set in splendid spheres of flame, | |
| Whose heads are where the gods are, and whose sides | 5 |
| Of strength are belted round with all the zones | |
| Of all the world, I dedicate these songs. | |
| And if, within the compass of this book, | |
| There lives and glows one verse in which there beats | |
| The pulse of wind and torrent—if one line | 10 |
| Is here that like a running water sounds, | |
| And seems an echo from the lands of leaf, | |
| Be sure that line is thine. Here, in this home, | |
| Away from men and books and all the schools, | |
| I take thee for my Teacher. In thy voice | 15 |
| Of deathless majesty, I, kneeling, hear | |
| God’s grand authentic gospel! Year by year, | |
| The great sublime cantata of thy storm | |
| Strikes through my spirit—fills it with a life | |
| Of startling beauty! Thou my Bible art | 20 |
| With holy leaves of rock, and flower, and tree, | |
| And moss, and shining runnel. From each page | |
| That helps to make thy awful volume, I | |
| Have learned a noble lesson. In the psalm | |
| Of thy grave winds, and in the liturgy | 25 |
| Of singing waters, lo! my soul has heard | |
| The higher worship; and from thee, indeed, | |
| The broad foundations of a finer hope | |
| Were gathered in; and thou hast lifted up | |
| The blind horizon for a larger faith. | 30 |
| Moreover, walking in exalted woods | |
| Of naked glory, in the green and gold | |
| Of forest sunshine, I have paused like one | |
| With all the life transfigured: and a flood | |
| Of life ineffable has made me feel | 35 |
| As felt the grand old prophets caught away | |
| By flames of inspiration; but the words | |
| Sufficient for the story of my dream | |
| Are far too splendid for poor human lips! | |
| But thou, to whom I turn with reverent eyes— | 40 |
| O stately Father, whose majestic face | |
| Shines far above the zone of wind and cloud, | |
| Where high dominion of the morning is— | |
| Thou hast the Songs complete of which my songs | |
| Are pallid adumbrations! Certain sounds | 45 |
| Of strong authentic sorrow in this book | |
| May have the sob of upland torrents—these, | |
| And only these, may touch the great World’s heart; | |
| For lo! they are the issues of that grief | |
| Which makes a man more human, and his life | 50 |
| More like that frank exalted life of thine. | |
| But in these pages there are other tones | |
| In which thy large, superior voice is not— | |
| Through which no beauty that resembles thine | |
| Has ever shown. These are the broken words | 55 |
| Of blind occasions, when the World has come | |
| Between me and my dream. No song is here | |
| Of mighty compass; for my singing robes | |
| I ’ve worn in stolen moments. All my days | |
| Have been the days of a laborious life, | 60 |
| And ever on my struggling soul has burned | |
| The fierce heat of this hurried sphere. But thou, | |
| To whose fair majesty I dedicate | |
| My book of rhymes—thou hast the perfect rest | |
| Which makes the heaven of the highest gods! | 65 |
| To thee the noises of this violent time | |
| Are far, faint whispers, and, from age to age, | |
| Within the world and yet apart from it, | |
| Thou standest! Round thy lordly capes the sea | |
| Rolls on with a superb indifference | 70 |
| Forever; in thy deep, green, gracious glens | |
| The silver fountains sing forever. Far | |
| Above dim ghosts of waters in the caves, | |
| The royal robe of morning on thy head | |
| Abides forever! Evermore the wind | 75 |
| Is thy august companion; and thy peers | |
| Are cloud, and thunder, and the face sublime | |
| Of blue mid-heaven! On thy awful brow | |
| Is Deity; and in that voice of thine | |
| There is the great imperial utterance | 80 |
| Of God forever; and thy feet are set | |
| Where evermore, through all the days and years, | |
| There rolls the grand hymn of the deathless wave. | |
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