THE MYSTIC SPEAKS. IT must be that the light divine That on your soul is pleased to shine Is other than what falls on mine: For you can fix and formalize The Power on which you raise your eyes, And trace him in his palace-skies; You can perceive and almost touch His attributes as such and such, Almost familiar overmuch. You can his thoughts and ends display, In fair historical array, From Adam to the judgment-day. You can adjust to time and place The sweet effusions of his grace, And feel yourself before his face. You walk as in some summer night, With moon or stars serenely bright, On which you gaze -- at ease -- upright. But I am like a flower sun-bent, Exhaling all its life and scent Beneath the heat omnipotent. I have not comforts such as you, -- I rather suffer good than do, -- Yet God is my Deliverer too. I cannot think Him here or there -- I think Him ever everywhere -- Unfading light, unstifled air. I lay a piteous mortal thing, -- Yet shadowed by his spirit's wing, A deathless life could in me spring: And thence I am, and still must be; What matters whether I or He? -- Little was there to love in me. I know no beauty, bliss, or worth, In that which we call Life on earth, That we should mourn its loss or dearth: That we should sorrow for its sake, If God will the imperfect take Unto Himself, and perfect make. O Lord! our separate lives destroy! Merge in thy gold our soul's alloy, -- Pain is our own, and Thou art Joy! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH ON THE LADY MARY VILLIERS [OR VILLERS] (2) by THOMAS CAREW DO YOU FEAR THE WIND? by HAMLIN GARLAND BROWNING AT ASOLO by ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 16. TROCHAIC VERSE: THE TWELFTH EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION THE CANTERBURY TALES: THE MERCHANT'S PROLOGUE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |