PS 3505 .055 V5 1917 Copy 1 VISION AND OTHER POEMS BEATRICE POST CANDLER M- VISION And Other Poems BEATRICE POST CANDLER p \.^^^' Copyright 1917 By BEATRICE POST CANDLER / OCT 10 1917 'C1,A478946 DEDICATED To those who have had the vision, or the first faint glimpse of man's divinity and life's essential unity and continuity. VISION "......and they in the synagogue when they heard these things were failed with wrath, and they rose up and thrust Him out of the Qty; and He passing through the midst of them went His way." Luke, 4th Chap. A thousand years are as a day; 1 Vo thousand years have passed away — Again the vision comes to me, A great crowd of humanity, — The synagogue, the house of prayer, The Son of Man is preaching there! The mystery of sacred places. The beauty of gigantic spaces, The vast and gorgeous house the Jew Had builded for the God he knew. The God of battle and of wrath Who scattered nations in His path But to whose furies would suffice The piteous blood of sacrifice! The altar that an ancient race Had consecrated in that place. The jewels of the altar gleam As through an Oriental dream. And like the soft call of a dream The sweet voice of the Nazarene. Among the crowd there may have moved The little children that He loved, The Scribes, the Elders and with these The ever-present Pharisees. The angry priests, the sudden screams, "God of the Jew, the man blasphemes!" The bursting storm, the cries of hate That drove Him from the temple gate ! I seem to see the flying stone, The passing figure pass alone. Driven by bigotry and hate. It passes from the temple gate. Beyond the temple gate I see A country road in Galilee ; In peril and in loneliness It leads unto the world's distress. And out upon that lonely road Passes the great Idea of God; — Upon the road to heal and teach. Upon the mountain side to preach. And following that figure dim A straggling few go after Him; Those shadowy figures pass again — A little group of fishermen. Upon the lake of Galilee A man has walked upon the sea; The force that trampled on the wave Has called the lepers from their cave. A wondrous thing is now abroad — The thing we call the Power of God Is healing on the great high road! Yonder where the cypress trees Are sighing in the moaning breeze There lies the place where sorrowing man Forever digs the bed for man. I see the people gathering there About a new made sepulchre. Two mourning sisters cry aloud In lamentation to the crowd *'If He had but been at our side Our brother Lazarus had not died!" A sudden hush! There seems to spread An awed excitement 'round the dead, For on the distant road they say The Nazarene is on His way. He hears in silence Lazarus sleeps, Some say "He prays!" and some "He weeps!" And yet the mourners at the tomb Feel that the Force of Life has come, Like children frightened at the night, Before it dawns upon their sight Can feel the coming of the light. The force that trampled on the wave And called the leper from his cave, Is moving now toward the grave. The voice of Love with gentle breath Is speaking at the door of death, How strangely simple is the prayer Immortal Love has uttered there! Another daj^ has come and gone. The Syrian night is creeping on. 'Tis but one more accomphshed stage Of a near-ending pilgrimage. The foxes to their holes have gone The beasts are sheltered till the morn. The man today who raised the dead Has not a place to lay His head! Those shadowy figures pass again — The little group of fishermen; How close they draw around Him here As though they felt a sudden fear ! They gaze upon the dusk that fills The dreamy Gahlean hills, How grimly still Jerusalem! It seems as though she threatened them. The great walls of the temple loom A frowning mass amid the gloom. How clear behind it seems to be The silhouette of Calvary! Unto the trembling fishermen There speaks the Master's voice again — "Go forth into the world," He said, "And heal the sick and raise the dead. Where ye can but heal in part Ye first must bind the broken heart, And at the call of human pain The Christ-works shall be done again In the far centuries to come — And greater things than I have done. What though the shadows gathering be In many a dark Gethsemane. Whose hand is laid upon the plough He cannot look behind him now. Take not two coats upon your way. Lest there should come the dangerous day When ye begin to broider them With costly thread and jeweled hem, And priestly pomp and worldly greed Should in that broidered vestment breed The hates of dogma and of creed. Lest with this vestment on his back Man place his brother on the rack Or cast his sister in the flame Which he has hghted in my name. Man may behold the frightful cost The Spirit of his symbols lost! When by material forms beset Take heed, take heed lest ye forget I lived and laboured long to prove The Spirit-God of Life and Love." Then pausing in its ministry The sweet voice lifted suddenly — "Whose is the hand that touches me? I feel the clutch of agony!" "Nay Master, there is no one here Save us, the friends thou holdest dear, No leper comes with mind distraught To drain the treasures of thy thought, The evening air is full of prayer And heavenly peace is everywhere, Save in the distance we can see An outcast woman follows thee. Once when thou didst sit at meat She weeping came and washed thy feet, But she will not approach thee twice. Nor would she dare to raise her voice." 'Who is there who dares to say Another is unfit to pray! Who in his virtue stands alone So high that he can cast the stone ? Remember from the temple gate I am an excommunicate. Beneath the Galilean sky An outcast and a wanderer I ! A strangled force should be set free. 10 A splendid soul in Hell may be — Go bring that child of God to me." Oh, wondrous mind that could enroll The great love-forces of the soul, That looking through the woman's eyes Behind them something recognized, The thing so pitifully rare That it was seeking everywhere ; That freed and blest that force sublime And turned it to the Love Divine. Later at the cross there stood The strong, unwavering womanhood; Fearless it watched beside the dead When the disciples all had fled. In love to meet and to abide, — Virgin and harlot side by side. And in the morn the Magdalene's eyes Were first to see the spirit rise. Unto the vision ripe to see The Easter dawn breaks radiantly. The hving truth revealed shall be — That Heaven is not a distant place Made for a time or creed or race, It is a state of being blest Within the spirit-consciousness. And Hell is ever at its side. The mortal thought objectified. 11 But God is not a potentate Of human jealousies and hate Upon an altar throned in state, Where in our superstition we Have taught the child to bend the knee Before a Father full of wrath Who forms the pitfalls in their path And by those snares that He has laid Curses and tempts the thing He made ! Nay, Love is that great formless Thing From whom the spirit ego springs, In whom the whole creation swings, Held as the pattern in the loom, Held as the child within the womb, The same is substance and in kind, Unsevered from the Parent Mind. Once more outside the synagogue The soul is seeking for this God, And little does it heed today The world-worn cry of "heresy!" For human want and human need Cannot be answered by a creed, Nor any priest's theology The starving soul can satisfy. Unto the hungry heart of man There calls that mighty fisherman, 12 Down each succeeding century He pleads for man's divinity, That other Hves and works may prove The wondrous, endless power of love. Beyond the temple gate I see A country road in Gahlee; Those shadowy figures pass again — A little group of fishermen! 13 COMMUNIOlSr Sometimes it comes so gradually that mortal man Is scarce aware that something in him stirs, Stirs and withdraws, as though a hand were drawn Out of a glove unconsciously. "Strange, strange," says mortal man "that there he two of mer This innerself which stirs and draws apart And walks with angels and returns again. Coming and going from the heights unseen. Until the day when it returns no more. While I — I go my way to pleasure or to work And of that inner Self I take but little heed." Sometimes it comes so suddenly that speech is checked ; The sword, the plough, the pen are impotent. Peace, and be still! for in thy consciousness The soul is turning to its origin. And Man with God is in communion ! 14 ILLUMINATION You say death is a barrier, and we cannot see Into eternity. It does not seem to me so very wide — The Great Divide! I do not say there is no change, but I aver There is no barrier. What is eternity? The hfe of earth Is just rebirth. And memory of pre-existence springs With flashing wings Into the psychic thought illumed to see Life's continuity, — And seeing this it does not so much mourn Life's passing on; Nor need it ask of science or theology To prove eternity! 15 EXPIATION To see that in knowledge alone is relief, And to desire it more than belief, To push at the door till it yields bit by bit And to feel the supreme joy of it, — A joy as if something had answered the call Which gives and must give till it yields us its all. So we strive, but we try not to cause others pain. Lest the door close in darkness again. With knowledge comes insight and progress and peace, But through expiation alone comes release. As children of God we are children of Law; Let us cease to beseech and implore! From ages, long ages may be, our account Still waits till we render the final amount. If we owe debts to Life, unto Life one by one Let us pay till the whole task is done. 16 TRANSFORMATION ; The City Saw ye the roof-tops white with snow? Methought the walls of Chenonceau Had reared those fair lucarnes on high In pointed peaks toward the sky. I dreamed some splendid architect For me had traced that silhouette! The little bridge among the trees — Perhaps some clever Japanese Has made the fairy thing of air And placed it 'neath my window where The lake within the park at night Reflects a hundred sparks of light. I see a steeple high and fair Ascending like a thought in prayer, While over all the city rests The moon's transfiguring loveliness. 17 THE PASSER-BY Beneath my casement dormer lies The city with its arteries Of throbbing hfe — the endless streets, As though a heart forever beats To send the living current forth Into the east and west and north And south the human river flows, Though whence it comes and where it goes I cannot tell; I only see And hear it passing endlessly. I do not know if by my door The passing stranger passed before, Upon his path of destiny — He knows not to what end it be, — He knows not where, he knows not why, Goes the eternal passer-by. Feel ye the City's strain and strife? I feel the pulse and throb of life. Nor does the murmur of the sea Bespeak a greater mystery ! 18 ORIENT AND OCCIDENT '*Where there is no vision, the people perish:" Proverbs. Through tears the visions of the West are seen. The dreaming East has kept its soul serene, But where the struggle of the West has been, We see through tears. Through tears, aye and through blood ! Who feels The breath of Europe's battle fields Where the love-spirit to the carnage yields — He sees through tears. But what is deathless in the soul shall rise. And in the race something undying lies Which for a greater vision clears our eyes — Alas through tears! THE PSYCHIC It is dusk and June, my little room Is haunted by a strange perfume, Perfume of lilies in the heat, Subtle scent that is strangely sweet, As she whose image seems to cling Lily-like to the heart of spring. All the beauty that God has thought, All the wonder that nature wrought, All the wisdom of ages lies In a woman's wonderful eyes. I can see them still, they gaze at me Out of the mists of memory. The little fingers that cling to mine Like the sensitive tendrils of a vine, I can feel them now and hear the drone Of the monotonous monotone Like the voice of a child who isn't strong Or one who has worked, and worked too long. 'Professors with their pompous airs And women with their love affairs Say I'm 'a great phenomena,' Greater than all the Psychics are. No one thinks I'm a woman too. No one cares or spares but you. 20 Thanks for the clasp of loving hands And for the thought that understands ! And those who shield me from arrest Because they need me for a *test', They hide their schemes and tell me lies With the auric colors before my eyes! They always forget that I can see The ugly color of treachery, And I'm tired of stupidity — I'm tired, tired, tired!" said she. It was dusk and June, and I sat one day Watching the daylight fade away, I was thinking of her with tenderness And pity that I could not express For the body that was nearly spent And the mind's strange, great development. The mighty soul with its power to bless And the frail child- woman helplessness. The book I held had been forgot : The room was filled with I know not what — Strong vibrations in the air As though her thought was stirring there. The open windows brought the sound Of garden life in plant and ground. The rustling leaves of swaying trees. The gentle droning of the bees. 21 Unconscious and subconscious life Laboring for self-conscious life. When suddenly it seemed to be That nature was aware of me. So closely that my little soul Was in communion with the Whole, And that great Whole and I were bent On some intense experiment. I felt one Life in everything To me and through me quivering: — In me it merged and watched and waited, To me and through me concentrated. One mind, one force, one effort bent Upon this one experiment. Something stirred! Was it a bird Or my own heart-beat that I heard? Just a wandering butterfly Touched my arm and fluttered by. Then returned and motionless. Poised itself upon my dress. "Oh uninvited guest," said I, "Beautiful, golden butterfly. Emblem of the soul's rebirth Hovering 'twixt heaven and earth, Eternal Psyche, radiant thing Upon the twihght shimmering, 22 Spirit of eternity — Why do you come to visit me?" All at once the empty room Filled with the scent of sweet perfmne, And in the twihght silently She stood there and smiled at me ! **My dear, my dear," I cried, "is dead!" '"There isn't any death," she said. She softly laughed as she used to do And then I found I was laughing too — Though at the time I couldn't tell That tears were in my eyes as well. So we gazed at each other and laughed as gay As though we were two little girls at play, 'Till she somehow — suddenly — shpped away — ! The butterfly quivered a little, then Settled down on my arm again. Lingering as though it wished to be All the comfort it could to me. The clock ticked on against the wall, From the meadow a distant call Faintly came to my ears though I Sat motionless as the butterfly. 23 All at once through the deepening hush Came the rippling notes of a garden thrush, Solemn and sweet, a little hymn. For the passing soul a requiem ! I knew the bird was singing for her. But that was all that I saw of her. Perfume of lihes in the heat; Perfume of lilies strangely sweet — As she whose memory seems to cling Flower-like to the heart of spring. 24. LITTLE FEET I love to see them dancing go Upon the road they do not know; I wish that I could keep them so — Dear little feet! If I had but the power to bless And save them from all weariness, That only flowers might caress Their pathway sweet. I would that I might take again The stony climbs, the bruises' pain, And leave for them the sunny plain- Dear little feet! 25 THE CALL OF THE WILL O' THE WISP Little boy with the yellow curls Let's go out and play! Let us follow the Will O' the Wisp Over the hills away. Over the fields and over the streams And into the wonderful Land of Dreams. Why do they put you into bed When we want to travel abroad instead? It's very dull to go in a train, We haven't got an aeroplane; And when we start in a boat alone There is always someone to take us home! How do they think we can say our prayers When the Will O' the Wisp is on the stairs? How do they think we can close our eyes When out of the window the fire-flies Are chasing about among the trees With a little elf whom nobody sees ! But when the nursery is dark and still He chmbs right up to the window sill, And starts to whisper and then to call Till we can't go to sleep at all! Over and over we hear him say "Won't you come with me and play? 26 Close the window and shut the blind And leave your overshoes behind With all the naughty things you've done, (We are going to forget them everyone!) For every child is glad and gay Who goes with the Will O' the Wisp to play. We'll pick the fruit from off the trees And suck the honey for the bees, We'll chase the bats and tease the frogs And get our feet wet in the bogs. For no one catches cold the day He goes with the Will O' the Wisp to play. We'll harness up the butterflies And ride with them across the skies. Like clouds upon the wind we'll go And see the great wide world below; — Hidden treasures that no one knows. Empty cities where no one goes, Huge old ruins where monkeys swing And dance in the palace of a king. Heavenly gardens, heavenly sweet. Filled with the patter of little feet Children's voices you never heard And the answering song of an unknown bird, 27 Over the hills and over the streams And on — and on — to the Land of Dreams. Wonderful things the boy will see If he goes 'round the world with me!" Where do you come from, Will O' the Wisp? And are you a playmate true? They say that the Land that Never Was Is the place that you lead us to ! But the child and the poet hand in hand Are ever seeking the magic land. So — little boy with the yellow curls Let's go out and play, Let us follow the Will O' the Wisp Over the fields away. Over the hills and over the streams And into the beautiful Land of Dreams. The time may come when we shall say We thank God that we know the way To the wonderful Land that Will Always Be For the Will O' the Wisp and you and me. 28 THE TEST Do the sick ask for you, and in your presence feel The spirit of the Christ to help and heal? Do the heart-broken fear that you condemn too much, When they would trust to a more gentle touch? Do children come to you, and coming say "I love you!" — Or do they turn away? 29 SONG Oh my beloved, what can I bring to you? Flowers that fade, beauty that vanishes, Success that fate or fortune gives today — To-morrow banishes. Oh my beloved, what can I sing to you? Life is so short for service or for song, We touch the harp — its notes of flattery To youth belong! Lo I will give to you the poet's soul. The joy to which all life and hope respond. Which sings and carries its unfinished song Into the Great Beyond. . . . 30 ■aiBi. 1