Excerpt
RELIGIOUS POEMS THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM
Where Time the measure of his hoursBy changeful bud and blossom keeps,And, like a young bride crowned with flowers,Fair Shiraz in her garden sleeps;
Where, to her poet's turban stone,The Spring her gift of flowers imparts,Less sweet than those his thoughts have sownIn the warm soil of Persian hearts:
There sat the stranger, where the shadeOf scattered date-trees thinly lay,While in the hot clear heaven delayedThe long and still and weary day.
Strange trees and fruits above him hung,Strange odors filled the sultry air,Strange birds upon the branches swung,Strange insect voices murmured there.
And strange bright blossoms shone around,Turned sunward from the shadowy bowers,As if the Gheber's soul had foundA fitting home in Iran's flowers.
Whate'er he saw, whate'er he heard,Awakened feelings new and sad,—No Christian garb, nor Christian word,Nor church with Sabbath-bell chimes glad,
But Moslem graves, with turban stones,And mosque-spires gleaming white, in view,And graybeard Mollahs in low tonesChanting their Koran service through.
The flowers which smiled on either hand,Like tempting fiends, were such as theyWhich once, o'er all that Eastern land,As gifts on demon altars lay.
As if the burning eye of BaalThe servant of his Conqueror knew,From skies which knew no cloudy veil,The Sun's hot glances smote him through.
"Ah me!" the lonely stranger said,"The hope which led my footsteps on,And light from heaven around them shed,O'er weary wave and waste, is gone!
"Where are the harvest fields all white,For Truth to thrust her sickle in?Where flock the souls, like doves in flight,From the dark hiding-place of sin?
"A silent-horror broods o'er all,—The burden of a hateful spell,—The very flowers around recallThe hoary magi's rites of hell!
"And what am I, o'er such a landThe banner of the Cross to bear?Dear Lord, uphold me with Thy hand,Thy strength with human weakness share!"
He ceased; for at his very feetIn mild rebuke a floweret smiled;How thrilled his sinking heart to greetThe Star-flower of the Virgin's child!
Sown by some wandering Frank, it drewIts life from alien air and earth,And told to Paynim sun and dewThe story of the Saviour's birth.
From scorching beams, in kindly mood,The Persian plants its beauty screened,And on its pagan sisterhood,In love, the Christian floweret leaned.
With tears of joy the wanderer feltThe darkness of his long despairBefore that hallowed symbol melt,Which God's dear love had nurtured there.
From Nature's face, that simple flowerThe lines of sin and sadness swept;And Magian pile and Paynim bowerIn peace like that of Eden slept.
Each Moslem tomb, and cypress old,Looked holy through the sunset air;And, angel-like, the Muezzin toldFrom tower and mosque the hour of prayer.
With cheerful steps, the morrow's dawnFrom Shiraz saw the stranger part;The Star-flower of the Virgin-BornStill blooming in his hopeful heart!1830....