Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume I. eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 316 pages of information about Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume I..

Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume I. eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 316 pages of information about Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume I..

“O ye good women, it is hard to leave
The paths of virtue, and return again. 
What if this sinner wept, and none of you
Comforted her?  And what if she did strive
To mend, and none of you believed her strife. 
Nor looked upon her?  Mark, I do not say,
Though it was hard, you therefore were to blame;
That she had aught against you, though your feet
Never drew near her door.  But I beseech
Your patience.  Once in old Jerusalem
A woman kneeled at consecrated feet,
Kissed them, and washed them with her tears. 
                                  What then? 
I think that yet our Lord is pitiful: 
I think I see the castaway e’en now! 
And she is not alone:  the heavy rain
Splashes without, and sullen thunder rolls,
But she is lying at the sacred feet
Of One transfigured.

“And her tears flow down,
Down to her lips,—­her lips that kiss the print
Of nails; and love is like to break her heart! 
Love and repentance—­for it still doth work
Sore in her soul to think, to think that she,
Even she, did pierce the sacred, sacred feet. 
And bruise the thorn-crowned head.

“O Lord, our Lord,
How great is Thy compassion.  Come, good Lord,
For we will open.  Come this night, good Lord;
Stand at the door and knock.

“And is this all?—­
Trouble, old age and simpleness, and sin—­
This all?  It might be all some other night;
But this night, if a voice said ’Give account
Whom hast thou with thee?’ then must I reply,
’Young manhood have I, beautiful youth and strength,
Rich with all treasure drawn up from the crypt
Where lies the learning of the ancient world—­
Brave with all thoughts that poets fling upon
The strand of life, as driftweed after storms: 
Doubtless familiar with Thy mountain heads,
And the dread purity of Alpine snows,
Doubtless familiar with Thy works concealed
For ages from mankind—­outlying worlds,
And many mooned spheres—­and Thy great store
Of stars, more thick than mealy dust which here
Powders the pale leaves of Auriculas. 
This do I know, but, Lord, I know not more. 
Not more concerning them—­concerning Thee,
I know Thy bounty; where Thou givest much
Standing without, if any call Thee in
Thou givest more.’  Speak, then, O rich and strong: 
Open, O happy young, ere yet the hand
Of Him that knocks, wearied at last, forbear;
The patient foot its thankless quest refrain,
The wounded heart for evermore withdraw.”

I have heard many speak, but this one man—­
So anxious not to go to heaven alone—­
This one man I remember, and his look,
Till twilight overshadowed him.  He ceased. 
And out in darkness with the fisherfolk
We passed and stumbled over mounds of moss,
And heard, but did not see, the passing beck. 
Ah, graceless heart, would that it could regain
From the dim storehouse of sensations past
The impress full of tender awe, that night,
Which fell on me!  It was as if the Christ
Had been drawn down from heaven to track us home,
And any of the footsteps following us
Might have been His.

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Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume I. from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.