THANKSGIVING
by: Gertrude M. Hort
I
- OME thank Thee that they neer
were so forsaken
- In dust of death, in whirling gulfs of shame,
- But by one kindred soul their part was taken,
- One far-off prayer vibrated with their name!
- I thank Thee too--for times no man can number,
- When I went down the rayless stairs of Hell,
- And to my comrades, at their feast or slumber,
- The echoes cried: Alls well!
-
II
Some thank Thee for the stern and splendid vision,
- Of truth, that never let them shrink or swerve!
- Till on their dearest dream they poured derision,
- And broke the idols they had sworn to serve!
- I thank Thee that, for me, some mystic terror
- Still haunts the accustomed shrine, the accustomed way,--
- So, though Truth calls me with the mouth of error.
- I need not disobey!
-
III
Some thank Thee for the Voice that sounds unbidden,
- Above the altar of their sacrifice;
- For that great Light wherein they stood unchidden,
- And watched, reflected, in each others eyes.
- I too--for whom came never word or token,
- Whose prayer into a seeming Void descends,
- I praise Thee for the trustful hush unbroken,
- The right of perfect friends!
"Thanksgiving" is reprinted
from The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse. Ed. Nicholson
& Lee. Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1917. |
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POEMS BY GERTRUDE M. HORT |
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