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Poem by Philip James Bailey
Festus - 12
All man's acts, Serious or trivial, all man's thoughts perchance Pass not unmarked of angel eye, or God's. We know in daytime there are stars about us, Just as at night, and name them what and where, By sight of science; so by faith we know, Though till our night we see them not, that spirits Are round us, and believe heaven may be full Of angels, as of star--motes night's white zone. A brief but solemn parley o'er a grave, Earth's hollow threshold of futurity, Observed by spirit invisible, aptly heads Holiest resolves; and, be they kept, enough To assure the heart of peace. Each soul must tread His doubt--press solitarily. Time soon fulfilled, Leads to a promised proof of progress gained By spirit on high, late loved, enlightening thus, Premonstrative, our end. A Church--Yard. Festus and Lucifer beside a Tomb. Festus. It is not God we doubt of: it is one's self. How can the separate soul, and most, if pure, Exist distinct from God; if perfect not,-- As who shall vaunt, even hers? how re--unite? Is he the perfect, the defectible, too? Here, everywhere, the spirit one holy word, Preacheth, in multitudinous tongues; in birth, Growth, blossom, fruit, collapse of life, and rise Regenerative of being; the saving truth, Congruous with man's first faith, world--wide, in God And in the soul--adjusting future, shown Resurgent by these grave--sprung flowers. For grant We die, nor nature cherish more man's frame, Than her dead leaflets, still to have lived conform With reason's law, and virtue's fine delights; To have kept intact the spirit's purity; To have revered, believed in others; hoped And suffered for, in pains we would not lack; The soul's inborn religion, dear to God, And those who nature love; while but to have dreamed Of one great Being, the absolute good; who joys, And waits, to impart to spirit, duly affined, Reunion with himself, true bliss; the just; The supreme virtue; whose immense repose, Actful, not idle, while to him vast scope Leaving administrative, to us reserves Deliberate choice; our fleeting, cloudlike lives, Of his persistent firmamental soul, Contrast and like; seems in itself to assure Our being of permanency; and well nigh proves Not immortality only, but cognate Divinity, that such vast and godlike dreams Man's brain could sanely guest. Lucifer. How sanely, friend? Festus. Oh yes, this sense of the infinite, born in man, Cultured or wild, of one sole essence, God, The governing conscience of all spirit, the same, Continuous, his and ours; salvation seems; A rock aethereal, this, sky--based, which shows Us, like originate with the eterne of heaven. For, as who the leaflets of the aye--moving plant, Though of proportions delicatest, first eyes, Instinct with circular freedom, even of spheres Suggestive, ultimately, and heaven; and, awed, Marks, as in preference moved, this frond or that, By some sufficing motive, if to us, Occult; so shapes mysteriously, through ghost Or natural spirit of earth and air, man's mind As out of self--necessity, to pursue This grandest and most perfect mould of thought, The thought of deity; man's best good, of all Rich, poor, participable. Lucifer. Good; let the world Work out its mingled fates, closed thus, or thus. 'Twere well, not grow too heavenly, all at once. Festus. When life is most about one, power and proof Of human foresight; some new conquest won By science from the vast unknown; some gift Of art, which shall outworth a nation's debt, Heirloom of ages, sealed to earth for good; And through all lands, one smile man's general face Lights up, self--glorifying; oft, then, I feel Sunkenest in soul, most faltering in the sense Of spiritual reality: and, in turn 'Midst base corruption's trophies mazed, as here, And stony tablets dropped from Death's grim tome, Most hopeful, most assured of being. Lucifer. To see Nature's sad wreck, on this, life's undercoast, Cast, and to deem still, something, somewhere, 'scapes By salvage, speaks strong faith. Festus. How is't I love The spirit of this fair creature, earthening here, If not in nature? Lucifer. May it not be, thou lov'st Her memory, less herself? Festus. Nay, hear, sweet spirit! Let years crowd in, and age bow down My bosom to the earth, which gave; As yon grey, worn out, crumbling stone Dips o'er the grave; Though passion me no more should thrill, Nor pleasure please, nor beauty move; Though the heart stiffen, and waxed still, No more make love; Still, in my breast, like river gold, Imbedded bright, thy love shall lie; Sun--grains, that with the sands are rolled Of memory. Still, let me hold what bliss the spirit enjoys Is that thou hopedst here, couldst ne'er forget. Lucifer. It may be that death's dewy slumber cloys The soul, as yet. Festus. Surely, that soul hath burst the tomb, Long while, enrobed in living light; Not being accursed, wormlike, to eat the gloom And dust of night. Lucifer. Oh surely life, in sporting on earth, lies Till death share up the rich green sod; But soul! if there it lives, or here it dies, Why try ye God? What should it never smile nor sigh From cheeks or lips but those beneath? Outweighs not love the world's vast lie, Bests life not death? Festus. I ask why man should suffer death? Lucifer. Answer, what right to life hath he? God gives, and takes away, your breath. What more have ye? Breath is your life, and life your soul; Ye have it warm from his kind hands; Then yield it back to the great Whole, When he demands. Why, deathling, wilt thou long for heaven? Why seek a bright, but blinding way? Go, thank thy God that he hath given Night upon day. Festus. It may be but illusion, then, the all Of marvels thou hast shown? It may be that the wreath--tricked, trailing pall Closes all known? Lucifer. Go, thank thy God, that thou hast lived; And ask no more. 'Tis all he gave; 'Tis all he wills, to be believed; God and the grave. Festus. For thee, God, will I save my heart For thee my nature's honour keep; Then, soul and body, all or part, Rest, wake, or sleep. Yet, might it be, a strange desire my breast Hath seized, I know not how; it is as though A meteor of the night had there sought rest, And burns within me, her to view once more Whose form here lies. Lucifer. In sooth, I saw a light But now, to thee, it may be, invisible, Which showed me here her spirit, close urging on Its moonbeamed path, some sister soul to impress With the arms of fortitude, or widowed heart Perchance, with patience' humbler crest. Perchance, We are like to have enough of that. Festus. There are, Who her help merit and need; and doubtless have, Should others justly lack. Lucifer. If, once for all To gorge thy passion for the unknown, I show Herself to thee, with clear sight in her own, Blessed home, thou wilt aid me first to other ends More pressantly required. Festus. More than to view Goodness perfected? Lucifer. Yea, even power assured. Festus. Command. Thou art ambitious for me. Lucifer. Good. The inevitable sequences of things Like an art--ordered torrent, made to amuse, Run themselves dry. Festus. Heaven speed the time with me. The sun of life shall mount the skies no more, It is one eternal setting. My burden is Henceforth, the spirit. Lucifer. Nay, divers quests be ours; And at the occurrent season each shall claim Of us, due recognition. Festus. Be it. Away!
Philip James Bailey
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