SIVA. "Mors janua vitæ." (1.) I AM the God of the sensuous fire That moulds all nature in forms divine; The symbols of death and of man's desire, The springs of change in the world, are mine; The organs of birth and the circlet of bones, And the light loves carved on the temple stones. (2.) I am the lord of delights and pain, Of the pest that killeth, of fruitful joys; I rule the currents of heart and vein; A touch gives passion, a look destroys; In the heat and cold of my lightest breath Is the might incarnate of Lust and Death. (3.) If a thousand altars stream with blood Of the victims slain by the chanting priest, Is a great God lured by the savory food? I reck not of worship, or songs, or feast; But that millions perish, each hour that flies, Is the mystic sign of my sacrifice. And the strong swift river my shrine below Mine is the fountain—and mine the force That spurs all nature to ceaseless strife; And my image is Death at the gates of Life. (6.) In many a legend and many a shape, In the solemn grove and the crowded street, I am the slayer, whom none escape; I am Death trod under a fair girl's feet; (7.) And the sum of the thought and the knowledge of man Is the secret tale that my emblems tell; Do ye seek God's purpose, or trace his plan? Ye may read my doom in your parable; For the circle of life in its flower and its fall Is the writing that runs on my temple wall. (8.) O race that labors, and seeks, and strives, With thy faith, thy wisdom, thy hopes and fears, Where now is the future of myriad lives? Where now is the creed of a thousand years? Far as the Western spirit may range, (9.) For the earth is fashioned by countless suns, From light to shadow, from fire to frost. (10.) Now that your hands have lifted the veil, mean, Will not the faces of men turn pale At the sentence heard, and the vision seen Of strife and sleep, of the soul's brief hour, And the careless tread of unyielding power? (11.) Though the world repent of its cruel youth, Are the visions of man in his hopelessness. Let my temples fall, they are dark with age, Let my idols break, they have stood their day; On the deep hewn stones the primeval sage Has figured the spells that endure alway; My presence may vanish from river and grove, But I rule forever in Death and Love. National Review. A. C. LYALL. THE WITNESSES. DAY by day in the open meadows, The forest windows grim and old. Day by day with a blow that strengthens, The sun-god smites the springing corn; Doubly cool are the dews of evening, Doubly sweet is the breath of morn. Day by day in the lower pastures, The sheaves stand thick on the short white stubble, The peaches glow on the orchard wall. Day by day, over hill and valley, The snowflakes wing their passage slow, Cold white ghosts of the forest children Dead in the tangled brakes below. Chambers' Journal. ALFRED WOOD. |