第 10 节
作者:想聊      更新:2021-02-24 22:40      字数:9321
  With a fleeting sense of God!
  THE SEEKER
  THE creeds he wrought of dream and thought                 Fall from him at the
  touch    of  life;   His    old  gods   fail  him   in  the  strife  Withdrawn;    the
  heavens he sought!
  Vanished;   the   miracles   that   led;    The   cloud   at   noon;   the   flame   at
  night; The vision that he wing'd and sped            Falls backward; baffled; from
  the height;
  Yet in the wreck of these he stands            Upheld by something grim and
  strong;      Some stubborn instinct lifts a song And nerves him; heart and
  hands:
  He does not dare to call it hope;         It is not aught that seeks reward
  Nor   faith;   that   up   some   sunward   slope   Runs   aureoled   to   meet   its
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  lord;
  It touches something elder far           Than faith or creed or thought in man;
  It was ere yet these lived and ran Like light from star to star;
  It   touches   that   stark;   primal   need   That   from  unpeopled   voids   and
  vast Fashioned the first crude; childish creed;               And still shall fashion;
  till the last!
  For one word is the tale of men:              They fling their icons to the sod;
  And having trampled down a god They seek a god again!
  Stripped   of   his   creeds   inherited;     Bereft   of   all   his   sires   held   true;
  Amid the wreck of visions dead              He thrills at touch of visions new。 。 。 。
  He    wings    another    Dream     for  flight。  。  。  。  He     seeks   beyond     the
  outmost dawn          A god he set there 。 。 。 and; anon; Drags that god from the
  height!
  。       。        。       。        。       。
  But aye from ruined faiths and old              That droop and die; fall bruised
  seeds;     And    when    new    flowers    and    faiths  unfold       They're     lovelier
  flowers; they're kindlier creeds。
  THE AWAKENING
  THE   steam;   the   reek;   the   fume;   of   prayer      Blown   outward   for   a
  million     years;     Becomes       a   mist   between     the  spheres;    And    waking
  Sentience struggles there。
  Prayer   still   creates   the boon   we   pray;     And gods   we've   hoped   for;
  from     those   hopes    Will   gain   sufficient    form    one   day      And     in  full
  godhood storm the slopes Where ancient Chaos; stark and gray; Already
  trembles for his sway。
  When   that   the   restless   worlds   would   fly     Their   wish   created   rapid
  wings;   But   not   till   aeons   had   passed   by     With   dower   of   many   idler
  things; And when dumb flesh demanded speech                    Speech struggled to the
  lips at last;     Now the unpeopled Void; and vast;
  Clean to that uttermost blank beach Whereto the boldest thought may
  reach      That voyages from the vaguest past               (Dim realm and ultimate
  of space) Is vexed and troubled; stirs and shakes; In prescience of a god
  that wakes;        Born of man's wish to see God's face!
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  The  endless;  groping;  dumb   desires;        The  climbing   incense   thick
  and sweet; The lovely purpose that aspires;            The wraiths of vapor wing'd
  and fleet      That rise   and   run with   eager feet   Forth   from a   myriad   altar
  fires:     All these become a mist that fills The vales and chasms nebular;
  A  shaping   Soul   that   moves   and   thrills   The   wastes   between   red   star   and
  star!
  A SONG OF MEN
  OUT of the soil and the slime; Reeking; they climb;
  Out of the muck and the mire; Rank; they aspire;
  Filthy    with   murder    and   mud;    Black   with   shed   blood;    Lust    and
  passion and clay Dying; they slay;
  Stirred by vague hints of a goal; Seeking a soul!
  Groping through terror and night Up to the light:
  Life in the dust and the clod Sensing a God;
  Flushed of the glamor and gleam Caught from a dream;
  Stained of the struggle and toil; Stained of the soil;
  Ally of God in the end Helper and friend
  Hero and prophet and priest Out of the beast!
  THE NOBLER LESSON
  CHRIST  was   of   virgin   birth;   and;   being   slain; The   creedists   say;   He
  rose from  death again。  Oh; futile   age…long talk of death and birth!  His
  life; that is the one thing wonder…worth; Not how He came; but how He
  lived on earth。 For if gods stoop; and with quaint jugglery Mock nature's
  laws;   how   shall   that   profit   thee? The  nobler   lesson   is   that   mortals   can
  Grow godlike through this baffled front of man!
  AT LAST
  EACH race has died and lived and fought for the                   〃true〃 gods of
  that poor race; Unconsciously; divinest thought of each race gild…                  ing
  its   god's  face。   And   every    race  that  lives   and  dies   shall  make    itself
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  some   other   gods;   Shall      build;   with   mingled    truth   and   lies;   new  icons
  from the world…old clods。 Through all the tangled creeds and dreams and
  shifting    shibboleths     men    hold    The   false…and…true;     inwoven;     gleams:     a
  matted          mass of   dross and   gold。  Prove; then; thy  gods in   thine own
  soul; all others'          gods; for thee; are vain; Nor swerved be; struggling
  for the goal; by bribe            of joy nor threat of pain。
  As skulls grow broader; so do faiths; as old tongues                     die; old gods
  die; too;
  And   only   ghosts   of   gods   and   wraiths   may   meet          the   backward…
  gazer's   view。   Where;   where   the   faiths   of   yesterday?       Ah;         whither
  vanished;      whither    gone?     Say;   what    Apollos     drive   to…day    adown     the
  flaming           slopes   of   dawn?   Oh;   does   the   blank   past   hide   from   view
  forgotten          Christs; to be reborn; The future tremble where some new
  Messiah…           Memnon sings the morn? Of all the worlds; say any earth;
  like   dust   wind…         harried   to   and   fro;   Shall   give   the   next   Prometheus
  birth; but say          at lastyou do not know。
  How should I know what dawn may gleam beyond                              the gates of
  darkness      there?    Which      god    of  all   the   gods    men    dream?       Why
  should I whip myself to care? Whichever over all hath place hath shaped
  and         made me what I am; Hath made me strong to front his face; to
  dare         to question though he damn。
  Perhaps   to   cringe   and   cower   and   bring   a   shrine          a   forced   and
  faithless faith Is far more futile than to fling your laughter in                   the face
  of Death。 For writhe or whirl in dervish rout; they are not                        flattered
  there on high; Or sham belief to hide a doubtno gods are mine                          that
  love a lie! Nor gods that beg belief on earth with portents                       that some
  seer   foretells   Is   life   itself   not   wonder…worth   that   we   must   cry     for
  miracles?   Is   it   not strange   enough   we breathe?        Does   every…          thing
  not God reveal? Or must we ever weave and wreathe some creed                             that
  shall   his   face   conceal?   Some   creed   of   which   its   prophets   cry   it   holds
  the secret's all…in…all: Some creed which ever bye and bye doth crumble;
  totter;   to   its  fall!  Say   any    dream     of  all  the   dreams     that   drift  and
  darkle;   glint   and   glow;   Holds   most   of   truth   within   its   gleams;   but   say
  at lastyou do not know。
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  Oh; say the soul; from star to star; with victory             wing'd; leap on
  through     space   And   scale   the  bastioned   nights   that  bar   the  secret's
  inner    dwelling…place;    Or  say   it  ever  roam   dim   glades   where    pallid
  wraiths of long…dead moons   Flit like  blown feathers through the shades;
  borne        on the breath of sobbing tunes: Say any tide of any time; of all
  the tides that ebb         and flow; Shall buoy us on toward any clime; but
  sayat        lastyou do not know!
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