Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE ODE OF GOOD, by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE ODE OF GOOD, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Eternal spring, and source
Last Line: But the sweet presence of a heavenly friend.
Subject(s): Good


ETERNAL Spring, and Source
Of happiness and weal!
Indwelling and unfailing Force!
Who dost Thyself reveal
In every jocund day, and restful night;
In every dawn serenely bright;
In every tide of yearning which doth roll,
Heavenward, some growing soul!

What were life save for Thee
But pain and misery --
To have no more longing, but to be
Below the brute, below the tree,
Below the little stone, or speck of dust,
Which are themselves, and are made just,
Conforming to the law which bade them grow,
Not dreaming dreams of heaven in their estate so low!

The calm brutes live and are,
Tranquil and unafraid,
Keeping their nature only; the faint star
Pursues its orbit always though of Thee
It knows not, yet its vast periphery
Is ordered by Thy hand; by Thee were laid
The fixed foundations of the unfathomed sea; --
All these obey Thee, though they may not know
What law it is that holds them. Man alone
Sees Thee, and knowing Thee, averts his face,
And yet is higher than all for his disgrace,
Which were impossible to brute, or tree, or stone
How shall a finite voice
Praise Thee who art too high for any praise,
Great Scheme, that by eternal, perfect ways
Farest and dost rejoice.
Thou wert before Life was, or Ill.
Thou rulest all things still;
The Governance and Regimen are Thine,
Oh Plenitude divine!
Of all the countless orbs that roll
Through all Thy infinite space.
We are through Thee alone, each in its place,
Organic, Inorganic, great and small;
Thou dost inspire and keep us all; --
Earth, sky, and sea; herb, tree, insect, and brute;
All Thy created excellences mute,
To Man of large discourse, and the undying soul.

We know not by what Name our tongues shall call
Thee or Thy Essence, nor can Thought as yet
Gain those ineffable heights where Thou art set,
As from a watch-tower guarding all.
Thou girdest Thyself round with mystery,
As Thy great sun behind an embattled cloud,
Or some wrapt summit, never seen;
Yet Thy veiled presence cheers us on our road.
With eyes bent down too much on earth and bowed,
We toil and do forget
All but our daily labour and its load;
Yet art Thou there the while, felt yet unseen,
Oh universal Good, and Thy great Will
Directs our footsteps still --
Directs them, though they come to stray
From Thy appointed perfect way;
Lights them, though for a while they wander far,
Led by some feeble baleful star,
Which can allure them when the blinding fold
Of mist is on the hill side, and the cold
Clouds which make green our lives, descending, hide
Death's steeps on every side.

We know not what Thou art --
Whether the Word of some all-perfect Will
Inborn and nourished in each human heart,
Some hidden and mysterious good,
Obeyed, not understood;
Or whether the harmonious note
Of some world-symphony divine,
To which the perfect Scheme of things,
Ever advancing perfectly
To high fulfilment, sings.
We know not what Thou art, and yet we love;
We know not where Thou dwell'st, yet still above
We turn our eyes to Thee, knowing Thou wilt take
Our yearnings and wilt treasure them, and make
Our little lives fulfil themselves and Thee:
And in this trust we bear to be.

Oh Light so white and pure,
Oft clouded and yet sure!
Oh inner Radiance of the heart,
That drawest all men, whatsoe'er Thou art!
Spring of the soul, that dost remove
Winter with rays of love,
And dost dispel of Thy far-working might
The clouds of Ill and Night,
For every soul which cometh to the earth;
That beamest on us at our birth,
And paling somewhat in life's grosser day,
Lightest, a pillar of fire, our evening way;
What matter by what Name
We call Thee? -- still art Thou the same,
God call we Thee, or Good, -- still through the strife
Unchangeable alone, of all our changeful life,
With awe-struck souls we seek Thee, we adore
Thy greatness ever more and more,
We turn to Thee with worship, till at last,
Our journey well-night past,
When now our day of Life draws to its end,
Looking, with less of awe and more of love,
To Thy high throne above,
We see no dazzling brightness as of old,
No kingly splendours cold,
But the sweet Presence of a heavenly Friend.





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