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And
if to-night my soul may find her peace
in
sleep, and sink in good oblivion,
and
in the morning wake like a new-opened flower
then
I have been dipped again in God, and new created.
And
if, as weeks go round, in the dark of the moon
my
spirit darkens and goes out, and soft strange gloom
pervades
my movements and my thoughts and words
then
shall I know that I am walking still
with
God, we are close together now the moon's in shadow.
And
if, as autumn deepens and darkens
I
feel the pain of falling leaves, and stems that break in storms
and
trouble and dissolution and distress
and
then the softness of deep shadows folding, folding
around
my soul and spirit, around my lips
so
sweet, like a swoon, or more like the drowse of a low, sad song
singing
darker than the nightingale, on, on to the solstice
and
the silence of short days, the silence of the year, the shadow,
then
I shall know that my life is moving still
with
the dark earth, and drenched
with
the deep oblivion of earth's lapse and renewal.
And
if, in the changing phases of man's life
I
fall in sickness and in misery
my
wrists seem broken and my heart seems dead
and
strength is gone, and my life
is
only the leavings of a life:
and
still, among it all, snatches of lovely oblivion, and snatches of
renewal
odd,
wintry flowers upon the withered stem, yet new, strange flowers
such
as my life has not brought forth before, new blossoms of me,
then
I must know that still
I
am in the hands of the unknown God,
he
is breaking me down to his own oblivion
to
send me forth on a new morning, a new man. |