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Musings in Maoriland
In the Temple
In the Temple.
Arise! arise from thy sluggish dreams,"
Softly whispered my soul unto me;
"Bountiful Nature her treasure teems
Over wood, mountain, valley and lea;
Earth has opened her pores to the sun,
Health and wealth through her arteries run;
Arise! let us go to the Temple.
"The priestess, Spring, on her altars green,
Glorifies God in her morning dress;
Nature, attired in vernal sheen,
Leads up her child to the sun's caress;
God is breathing through her on the hills,
His voice is heard through the brooks and rills;—
Arise! let us go to the Temple.
"Others may look for the Light above,
Through narrow cages of wood and stone,
Cabined within from the rays of Love!
Up on the hills we're nearer the Throne.
This is the Sabbath, and I am free,"
Softly whispered my soul unto me,
"Arise! let us go to the Temple."
At Matins.
I followed my spirit up the steps of the mighty altars,
Draped in brightest green, rising o'er the sea;
I gazed through the open bodice of Spring, and saw her bosom
Swelling with rich nutrition and pouring
Earth's milk in streams prolific over hedges, meads and orchards,
Leaving its perfumed cream on the hawthorn;
I saw the pink tint of her healthy cheeks on the fresh heath beds
Where she had rested all through the winter;
I saw the impress of her rosy lips on the banks and slopes
Where she had kissed the tears from the flowerets;
I saw rich threads of her golden hair on the wild broom and furze—
Her yellow ringlets on the wattle-trees;
I saw her invested with her sacred robes, standing erect
On topmost step of the highest altar;
I watched her swinging her golden censers to the azure dome,
And as the fragrant incense mounted high
The mighty organ, worked by Ocean-sprites, boomed grand and solemn
Through the lofty Temple, and Nature's choir
Of birds and insects, brooks and zephyrs, burst forth in melody,
And praised the Omnipresent God in song:—
"Spirit of Omnipotence,
Mystic Soul of every sense,
Truth sublime and Love intense,
Nature smiles before Thee;
Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring,
All the Seasons to Thee bring
Tribute; Lord of everything,
Father, we adore Thee."Centre of Eternal Light,
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Nature's forces all unite
Praising Thee, the Infinite,—
Nothing shall ignore Thee.
Take, Oh! Power that gave us birth,
All our music and our mirth,
All the sweetness of the earth—
Father, we adore Thee..gif)
"Framer of Creation's laws,
Source of all that is, and was,
And shall be—Omnipresent Cause,
There is no King o'er Thee.
Thou art still the First and Last;
Thou art Future, Present, Past,
Builder of this Temple vast,—
Father, we adore Thee."
Sabbath bells are tolling, tolling:
"Come and worship, come and pray."
Ocean's mighty voice is rolling
Solemn chants from far away;
Rills and brooks and birds are singing
Nature's psalms and hymns and glees,
And the morning breeze is swinging
Censers on the orchard trees.
Little churches, little steeples,
Little souls and little hearts,
Little nations, little peoples,
Actors playing little parts;
After all we're very little,
Very little after all.
In the Temple of Creation,
Brothers, we are very small.
In the Temple of Creation,
Soaring to the speckless dome,
Seek our souls their destination,
Dreaming of a future home;
'Mongst the bright, the pure, the stainless,
In the realms of bliss and mirth,
Ah! our spirits are not chainless,
They are fettered still to earth.
Little tricks and little treasons,
Little hates and little spites,
Little months and little seasons,
Little days and little nights.
After all we're very little,
Very little after all.
In the Temple of Creation,
Brothers, we are very small.
Soul and mind, and sense and feeling,
Watch, upon the mountain's brow,
Nature, in her prime, revealing
All her vernal treasures now.
From his throne, old Sol, the gilder,
Greets us with a warm caress;
Worshipping the Temple's Builder,
We can feel our nothingness.
Little sorrows, little troubles,
Little griefs and little joys,
Little castles, little bubbles,
Little towers and little toys;
After all We're very little,
Very little after all.
In the Temple of Creation,
Brothers, we are very small.
At Vespers.
Above the Temple's shrines, and altars bold,
Night's silver lamp hung high with fullest face,
And shed refulgent showers of borrowed gold
O'er vale and forest; and the russet hills
Looked at their shadows in the placid bay,
Upon whose breast rich beams of mellow light
Fell softly down, and merry wavelets danced
Upon the shafts that stretched themselves athwart
The tranquil food. The laughing ripplets seemed
(Whilst shimm'ring in the glory of the moon)
Like breeze-stirred edges of a gilded tome;
The brooklets, running down the deep ravines,
Sang merry carols with playful reeds,
And zephyrs stirred the flax-leaves into tune!
And up the gullies, from the cold white beach
That stretched along the borders of the sea,
The Ocean's organ with its deep-toned boom,
Called up the wand'ring spirits of the main;
And all the breakers in their snowy robes—
White-surpliced choristers—in solemn chant
Burst forth into a chorus wild and grand,
In Nature's untranslated language old—
The tongue in which God spake ere Moses heard
His voice on Sinai's Mount—ere Abram's flocks
Were spread on Moreh's plain—ere Noah dwelt
Within the ark—ere Adam ate the fruit
Of good and evil—ere old Nature hid
Her secrets 'neath the deep Silurian seas—
The tongue in which the words, "Let there be light,"
Burst on the startled Universe, and swept
Ten thousand worlds across the boundless dome
Of God's majestic Temple, there to shine
Resplendent lamps for ever round His throne.