Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE PILGREM'S REST, by SARAH (STICKNEY) ELLIS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE PILGREM'S REST, by                    
First Line: Pilgrim, why thy course prolong?
Last Line: T is the place of prayer for me!


Pilgrim, why thy course prolong?
Here are birds of ceaseless song,
Here are flowers of fadeless bloom,
Here are woods of deepest gloom,
Cooling waters for thy feet:
Pilgrim, rest; repose is sweet.

Tempt me not with thoughts of rest.
Woods in richest verdure dressed,
Scented flowers and murmuring streams,
Lull the soul to fruitless dreams.
I would seek some holy fane,
Pure and free from earthly stain.

Based upon the eternal rock,
Braving time and tempest's shock;
Seest thou not yon temple grey?
There thy weary steps may stay,
There thy lowly knees may bend,
There thy fervent tears descend.

Has that temple stood the storm?
Could no touch of time deform?
Was the altar there so pure,
That its worship must endure?
Whence those noble ruins then?
Why the wondering gaze of men?

No. The Sybil's power is gone.
Hushed is each mysterious tone.
Closed the eye, whose upward gaze
Read the length of human days;
Blindly darkened to her own,
Shrine and goddess both are gone.

Onward, then, my feet must roam;
Not for me the marble dome,
Not the sculptured column high,
Pointing to yon azure sky.
Let the Heathen worship there,
Not for me that place of prayer.

Pilgrim, enter. Awe profound
Waits thee on this hallowed ground.
Here no mouldering columns fall,
Here no ruin marks the wall;
Marble pure, and gilding gay,
Woo thy sight, and win thy stay.

Here the priest, in sacred stole
Welcomes every weary soul.
Here what suppliant knees are bending!
Here what holy incense lending
Perfume to the ambient air!
Ecstacy to praise and prayer!

Pilgrim, pause; and view this pile.
Leave not yet the vaulted aisle.
See what sculptured forms are here!
See what gorgeous groups appear!
Tints that glow, and shapes that live,
All that art or power can give!

Hark, the solemn organ sounds!
How each echoing note rebounds!
Now along the arches high,
Far away it seems to die.
Now it thunders, deep and low,
Surely thou mayst worship now.

Tempt me not. The scene is fair,
Music floats upon the air,
Clouds of perfume round me roll;
Thoughts of rapture fill my soul.
Tempt me not, I must away,
Here I may not -- dare not stay.

Here amazed -- entranced I stand,
Human power on every hand
Charms my senses -- meets my gaze,
Wraps me in a wildering maze.
But the place of prayer for me,
Purer still than this must be.

From the light of southern skies,
Where the stately columns rise --
Wanderer from the valleys green,
Wherefore seek this wintry scene?
Here no stranger steps may stay,
Turn thee, pilgrim -- haste away.

Here, what horrors meet thy sight!
Mountain-wastes, of trackless height;
Where the eternal snows are sleeping,
Where the wolf his watch is keeping,
While in sunless depths below,
See the abodes of want and wo!

Here what comfort for thy soul!
Storm and tempest o'er thee roll,
Spectral forms around thee rise,
In thy pathway famine lies;
All is darkness, doubt, and fear,
Man is scarce thy brother here.

Tempter -- cease. Thy words are vain.
'T is no dream of worldly gain,
'T is no hope in luxury dressed,
'T is no thought of earthly rest,
Earthly comfort, or repose,
Lures me to these Alpine snows.

I would seek, amid this wild,
Fervent faith's devoted child.
Holy light is on his brow,
From his lips are words that glow,
In his bosom depths of love
Filled from heaven's pure fount above.

I would follow, where his feet
Mountain-rocks and dangers meet.
I would join his simple band,
Linked together, heart and hand;
There I fain would bend my knee,
'T is the place of prayer for me!





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