John Aylmer Dorgan.

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And her voice shall speak in music

Sweeter than the bliss before,
And a solemn joy and saintly

Shall replace the unrest of yore ;
And our eyes shall see her beauty,

And our hearts shall feel her love,
And our weary feet be guided

To the better world above.

And in heaven, up in heaven,

There are harpings sweet and loud,
And their gladness is to ours

As the lightning to the cloud,
And the presence of Jehovah

Fills the place, but doubt not this,
That the sorrow of the angels,

Is their heavenliest bliss !


Of all the visions of the Eastern sages,
The garnered treasures of forgotten ages,
The childlike wisdom of what hoariest eld,
Of all the faiths which men hold or have held,
That pleases me, in which the supreme good
Of the desired hereafter lies in this,
From earthly suffering and earthly bliss
To be withdrawn into the rest of Boodh.


Ye who have known the quiet which is born

In souls that have forgotten to desire
But have desired, whom life hath made forlorn,

By fates superior to remorse or ire,
Baffled your hopes, your yearnings laughed to

Chained to the rock, or withering in the fire,
Hell's barren empire yours, but yours the clue,
For which Jove trembled, which supreme Pro-
metheus knew,
Rejoice ! for ye have had even in this life

Some glimpses of the bliss of that to be,
The god-like peace that only follows strife,

The calm of victory.
Rejoice, ye kingly spirits unsubdued,
For your sweet foretaste of the rest of Boodh.

The rest of Boodh ! Lo, Time the eternal bears '
A harp of silence : as its music wakes

The graves grow green in which we laid with
Our dearest, and our faces grief forsakes ;

Listen, the poet's song dies unawares ;

Behold, the conquerer's arch asunder breaks :


And to the strains of that Lethean lyre
Our rapture like our anguish shall expire.

That whirl of thrilling passion, joy and pain,

I would not wish again ;

Yet would not lose the dreary wisdom won

In the life which is done,

The calm of high heroic hearts outworn

With victory forlorn ;

I would not yield to death the poet mood

Which peoples every solitude,

The power born of wrong

Which lightens in my song ;

Unchanged and changeless, yet no more the same,
Apart from all, and yet of all a part,
In the deep peace of the eternal heart

Let me abide with those who overcame,

From earth and all its phantoms many-hued

Absorbed into the colorless rest of Boodh.

The stainless, painless, passionless rest of Boodh !
There is no evil, and there is no good,
Nor life, nor death, nor time, nor space, nor aught
But conscious will, and all-compelling thought,


And the deep sense of calm immutable -

In which the immortal dwell,

By whom are all things known and understood

Far sunken in the solemn rest of Boodh.

The rest of Boodh ! The starry rest of Boodh !

The love of old, and the ancestral feud,

Shall move no more, forgotten and forgiven

In the repose of heaven.

The stars shall fall ; the sun be turned to blood ;

The earth be shrouded in a fiery flood ;

The heavens be rolled together as a scroll ;

The form and face of Nature be renewed ;
Still shall abide the all-pervading soul,

And still the calm of those who rest in Boodh,

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Online LibraryJohn Aylmer DorganStudies → online text (page 6 of 6)