Bartlett's Poems for Occasions

by Geoffrey O'Brien

  Nay fashionless, ere form I took,

  Thy all and more beholding eye

  My shapeless shape

  Could not escape:

  All these time framed successively

  Ere one had being, in the book

  Of thy foresight enrolled did lie.

  My God, how I these studies prize,

  That do thy hidden workings show!

  Whose sum is such,

  No sum so much:

  Nay summ’d as sand they sumless grow.

  I lie to sleep, from sleep I rise,

  Yet still in thought with thee I go.

  MARY HERBERT, COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE

  ENGLISH (1561-1621)

  I Look for You

  I look for you early,

  my rock and my refuge,

  offering you worship

  morning and night;

  before your vastness

  I come confused

  and afraid for you to see

  the thoughts of my heart.

  What could the heart

  and tongue compose,

  or spirit’s strength

  within me to suit you?

  But song soothes you

  and so I’ll give praise

  to your being as long

  as your breath-in-me moves.

  SOLOMON IBN GABIROL

  HEBREW/SPANISH (C. 1022-C. 1070) TRANSLATED BY PETER COLE

  Song of the Soul That Is Glad to Know God by Faith

  How well I know that fountain’s rushing flow

  Although by night

  Its deathless spring is hidden. Even so

  Full well I guess from whence its sources flow

  Though it be night.

  Its origin (since it has none) none knows:

  But that all origin from it arose

  Although by night.

  I know there is no other thing so fair

  And earth and heaven drink refreshment there

  Although by night.

  Full well I know its depth no man can sound

  And that no ford to cross it can be found

  Though it be night.

  Its clarity unclouded still shall be:

  Out of it comes the light by which we see

  Though it be night.

  Flush with its banks the stream so proudly swells;

  I know it waters nations, heavens, and hells

  Though it be night.

  The current that is nourished by this source

  I know to be omnipotent in force

  Although by night.

  From source and current a new current swells

  Which neither of the other twain excels

  Though it be night.

  The eternal source hides in the Living Bread

  That we with life eternal may be fed

  Though it be night.

  Here to all creatures it is crying, hark!

  That they should drink their fill though in the dark,

  For it is night.

  This living fount which is to me so dear

  Within the bread of life I see it clear

  Though it be night.

  ST. JOHN OF THE CROSS

  SPANISH (1542-1591)

  TRANSLATED BY ROY CAMPBELL

  Hail holy light, ofspring of Heav’n first-born

  From Paradise Lost

  Hail holy light, ofspring of Heav’n first-born,

  Or of th’ Eternal Coeternal beam

  May I express thee unblam’d? since God is light,

  And never but in unapproachèd light

  Dwelt from Eternitie, dwelt then in thee,

  Bright effluence of bright essence increate.

  Or hear’st thou rather pure Ethereal stream,

  Whose Fountain who shall tell? before the Sun,

  Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice

  Of God, as with a Mantle didst invest

  The rising world of waters dark and deep,

  Won from the void and formless infinite.

  Thee I re-visit now with bolder wing,

  Escap’t the Stygian Pool, though long detain’d

  In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight

  Through utter and through middle darkness borne

  With other notes then to th’ Orphean Lyre

  I sung of Chaos and Eternal Night,

  Taught by the heav’nly Muse to venture down

  The dark descent, and up to reascend,

  Though hard and rare: thee I revisit safe,

  And feel thy sovran vital Lamp; but thou

  Revisit’st not these eyes, that rowle in vain

  To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn;

  So thick a drop serene hath quencht thir Orbs,

  Or dim suffusion veild. Yet not the more

  Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt

  Cleer Spring, or shadie Grove, or Sunnie Hill,

  Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief

  Thee Sion and the flowrie Brooks beneath

  That wash thy hallowd feet, and warbling flow,

  Nightly I visit: nor somtimes forget

  Those other two equal’d with me in Fate,

  So were I equal’d with them in renown.

  Blind Thamyris and blind Mæonides,

  And Tiresias and Phineus Prophets old.

  Then feed on thoughts, that voluntarie move

  Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful Bird

  Sings darkling, and in shadiest Covert hid

  Tunes her nocturnal Note. Thus with the Year

  Seasons return, but not to me returns

  Day, or the sweet approach of Ev’n or Morn,

  Or sight of vernal bloom, or Summers Rose,

  Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;

  But cloud in stead, and ever-during dark

  Surrounds me, from the chearful waies of men

  Cut off, and for the Book of knowledg fair

  Presented with a Universal blanc

  Of Natures works to mee expung’d and ras’d,

  And wisdome at one entrance quite shut out.

  So much the rather thou Celestial light

  Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers

  Irradiate, there plant eyes, all mist from thence

  Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell

  Of things invisible to mortal sight.

  JOHN MILTON

  ENGLISH (1608-1674)

  The World

  I saw Eternity the other night

  Like a great Ring of pure and endless light,

  All calm, as it was bright,

  And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years

  Driv’n by the spheres

  Like a vast shadow mov’d, in which the world

  And all her train were hurl’d;

  The doting lover in his quaintest strain

  Did there complain,

  Near him his lute, his fancy, and his flights,

  Wit’s sour delights,

  With gloves and knots, the silly snares of pleasure;

  Yet his dear treasure

  All scattered lay, while he his eyes did pore

  Upon a flower.

  The darksome statesman, hung with weights and woe,

  Like a thick midnight-fog moved there so slow

  He did not stay, nor go;

  Condemning thoughts (like sad eclipses) scowl

  Upon his soul,

  And clouds of crying witnesses without

  Pursued him with one shout.

  Yet digged the mole, and lest his ways be found

  Worked underground,

  Where he did clutch his prey, but one did see

  That policy;

  Churches and altars fed him, perjuries

  Were gnats and flies,

  It rained about him blood and tears, but he

  Drank them as free.

  The fearful miser on a heap of rust

  Sat pining all his life there, did scarce trust
<
br />   His own hands with the dust,

  Yet would not place one piece above, but lives

  In fear of thieves.

  Thousand there were as frantic as himself

  And hugged each one his pelf,

  The downright Epicure placed heaven in sense

  And scorned pretence

  While others, slipped into a wide excess,

  Said little less;

  The weaker sort slight, trivial wares enslave

  Who think them brave,

  And poor, despisèd Truth sat counting by

  Their victory.

  Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing,

  And sing, and weep, soared up into the Ring,

  But most would use no wing.

  ‘O fools’ (said I) ‘thus to prefer dark night

  Before true light,

  To live in grots, and caves, and hate the day

  Because it shows the way,

  The way which from this dead and dark abode

  Leads up to God,

  A way where you might tread the sun, and be

  More bright than he.’

  But as I did their madness so discuss

  One whispered thus:

  ‘This Ring the Bridegroom did for none provide

  But for his bride.’

  HENRY VAUGHAN

  ENGLISH (1622-1695)

  Our God, Our Help in Ages Past

  Our God, our help in ages past,

  Our hope for years to come,

  Our shelter from the stormy blast,

  And our eternal home.

  Under the shadow of thy throne

  Thy saints have dwelt secure,

  Sufficient is thine arm alone,

  And our defense is sure.

  Before the hills in order stood

  Or earth received her frame,

  From everlasting thou art God,

  To endless years the same.

  Thy word commands our flesh to dust,

  “Return ye sons of men”:

  All nations rose from earth at first

  And turn to earth again.

  A thousand ages in thy sight

  Are like an evening gone,

  Short as the watch that ends the night

  Before the rising sun.

  The busy tribes of flesh and blood

  With all their lives and cares

  Are carried downwards by thy flood

  And lost in following years.

  Time like an ever-rolling stream

  Bears all its sons away,

  They fly forgotten as a dream

  Dies at the op’ning day.

  Like flow’ry fields the nations stand

  Pleased with the morning light,

  The flow’rs beneath the mower’s hand

  Lie withering ere ’tis night.

  Our God our help in ages past,

  Our hope for years to come,

  Be thou our guard while troubles last,

  And our eternal home.

  ISAAC WATTS

  ENGLISH (1674-1748)

  Light Shining out of Darkness

  God moves in a mysterious way

  His wonders to perform;

  He plants His footsteps in the sea,

  And rides upon the storm.

  Deep in unfathomable mines

  Of never failing skill

  He treasures up His bright designs,

  And works His sovereign will.

  Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take:

  The clouds ye so much dread

  Are big with mercy, and shall break

  In blessings on your head.

  Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

  But trust Him for His grace;

  Behind a frowning providence

  He hides a smiling face.

  His purposes will ripen fast,

  Unfolding ev’ry hour;

  The bud may have a bitter taste,

  But sweet will be the flow’r.

  Blind unbelief is sure to err,

  And scan His work in vain;

  God is His own interpreter,

  And He will make it plain.

  WILLIAM COWPER

  ENGLISH (1731-1800)

  First-Day Thoughts

  In calm and cool and silence, once again

  I find my old accustomed place among

  My brethren, where, perchance, no

  human tongue

  Shall utter words; where never hymn

  is sung,

  Nor deep-toned organ blown, nor censer

  swung,

  Nor dim light falling through the pictured

  pane!

  There, syllabled by silence, let me hear

  The still small voice which reached the

  prophet’s ear;

  Read in my heart a still diviner law

  Than Israel’s leader on his tables saw!

  There let me strive with each besetting sin,

  Recall my wandering fancies, and

  restrain

  The sore disquiet of a restless brain;

  And, as the path of duty is made plain,

  May grace be given that I may walk

  therein,

  Not like the hireling, for his selfish gain,

  With backward glances and reluctant tread,

  Making a merit of his coward dread,

  But cheerful, in the light around me

  thrown,

  Walking as one to pleasant service led;

  Doing God’s will as if it were my own,

  Yet trusting not in mine, but in His

  strength alone!

  JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

  AMERICAN (1807-1892)

  Lead, Kindly Light

  Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom,

  Lead thou me on;

  The night is dark, and I am far from home;

  Lead thou me on.

  Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see

  The distant scene: one step enough for me.

  I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou

  Shouldst lead me on;

  I loved to choose and see my path; but now

  Lead thou me on.

  I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,

  Pride ruled my will: remember not past years.

  So long thy power hath blest me, sure it still

  Will lead me on

  O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till

  The night is gone,

  And with the morn those angel faces smile

  Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.

  JOHN HENRY NEWMAN

  ENGLISH (1801-1890)

  Abide with Me

  Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;

  The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide,

  When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,

  Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

  Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;

  Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away;

  Change and decay in all around I see:

  O Thou who changest not, abide with me!

  I need Thy presence every passing hour;

  What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?

  Who like Thyself my guide and stay can be?

  Through cloud and sunshine, O abide with me.

  I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;

  Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness;

  Where is death’s sting? where, grave, thy victory?

  I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

  Hold Thou Thy Cross before my closing eyes,

  Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies;

  Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee:

  In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me!

  HENRY FRANCIS LYTE

  SCOTTISH (1793-1847)

  God’s Grandeur

  The world is charged with the grandeur of God.r />
  It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;

  It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil

  Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?

  Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

  And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;

  And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil

  Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

  And for all this, nature is never spent;

  There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;

  And though the last lights off the black West went

  Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —

  Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

  World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright

  wings.

  GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS

  ENGLISH (1844-1889)

  The Creation

  And God stepped out on space,

  And he looked around and said:

  I’m lonely —

  I’ll make me a world.

  And far as the eye of God could see

  Darkness covered everything,

  Blacker than a hundred midnights

  Down in a cypress swamp.

  Then God smiled,

  And the light broke,

  And the darkness rolled up on one side,

  And the light stood shining on the other,

  And God said: That’s good!

  Then God reached out and took the light in his hands,

  And God rolled the light around in his hands

  Until he made the sun;

  And he set that sun a-blazing in the heavens.

  And the light that was left from making the sun

  God gathered it up in a shining ball

  And flung it against the darkness,

  Spangling the night with the moon and stars.

  Then down between

  The darkness and the light

  He hurled the world;

  And God said: That’s good!

  Then God himself stepped down —

  And the sun was on his right hand,

  And the moon was on his left;

  The stars were clustered about his head,

  And the earth was under his feet.

  And God walked, and where he trod

  His footsteps hollowed the valleys out

  And bulged the mountains up.

  Then he stopped and looked and saw

  That the earth was hot and barren.

  So God stepped over to the edge of the world

  And he spat out the seven seas —

  He batted his eyes, and the lightnings flashed —

  He clapped his hands, and the thunders rolled —

  And the waters above the earth came down,