THE PARTING OF THE WAYS

GODMINSTER CHIMES

WRITTEN IN AID OF A CHIME OF BELLS FOR CHRIST CHURCH, CAMBRIDGE

Godminster?  Is it Fancy’s play? 
  I know not, but the word
Sings in my heart, nor can I say
  Whether ’twas dreamed or heard;
Yet fragrant in my mind it clings
  As blossoms after rain,
And builds of half-remembered things
  This vision in my brain.

Through aisles of long-drawn centuries
  My spirit walks in thought,
And to that symbol lifts its eyes
  Which God’s own pity wrought;
From Calvary shines the altar’s gleam,
  The Church’s East is there,
The Ages one great minster seem,
  That throbs with praise and prayer.

And all the way from Calvary down
  The carven pavement shows
Their graves who won the martyr’s crown
  And safe in God repose;
The saints of many a warring creed
  Who now in heaven have learned
That all paths to the Father lead
  Where Self the feet have spurned.

And, as the mystic aisles I pace,
  By aureoled workmen built,
Lives ending at the Cross I trace
  Alike through grace and guilt;
One Mary bathes the blessed feet
  With ointment from her eyes,
With spikenard one, and both are sweet,
  For both are sacrifice.

Moravian hymn and Roman chant
  In one devotion blend,
To speak the soul’s eternal want
  Of Him, the inmost friend;
One prayer soars cleansed with martyr fire,
  One choked with sinner’s tears,
In heaven both meet in one desire,
  And God one music hears.

Whilst thus I dream, the bells clash out
  Upon the Sabbath air,
Each seems a hostile faith to shout,
  A selfish form of prayer: 
My dream is shattered, yet who knows
  But in that heaven so near
These discords find harmonious close
  In God’s atoning ear?

O chime of sweet Saint Charity,
  Peal soon that Easter morn
When Christ for all shall risen be,
  And in all hearts new-born! 
That Pentecost when utterance clear
  To all men shall be given,
When all shall say My Brother here,
  And hear My Son in heaven!

THE PARTING OF THE WAYS

Who hath not been a poet?  Who hath not,
With life’s new quiver full of winged years,
Shot at a venture, and then, following on,
Stood doubtful at the Parting of the Ways?

There once I stood in dream, and as I paused,
Looking this way and that, came forth to me
The figure of a woman veiled, that said,
‘My name is Duty, turn and follow me;’
Something there was that chilled me in her voice;
I felt Youth’s hand grow slack and cold in mine, 10
As if to be withdrawn, and I exclaimed: 
’Oh, leave the hot wild heart within my breast!