Rampolli - A Year's Diary of an Old Soul
Home - George MacDonald - Rampolli - A Year's Diary of an Old SoulTHE LOST CHURCH.
In the far forest, overhead,
A bell is often heard obscurely; How long since first, no one can tell--
Nor can report explain it surely: From the lost church, the rumour hath,
Out on the winds the ringing goeth; Once full of pilgrims was the path--
Now where to find it, no one knoweth.
Deep in the wood I lately went
Where no foot-trodden way is lying; From times corrupt, on evil bent,
My heart to God went out in sighing: There, in the wild wood's deep repose,
I heard the ringing somewhat nearer; The higher that my longing rose
Its peal grew fuller and came clearer.
My thoughts upon themselves did brood;
My sense was with the sound so busy That I have never understood
How I did climb that steep so dizzy. It seemed more than a hundred years
Had passed me over, dreaming, sighing-- When far above the clouds appears
An open space in sunlight lying.
Dark-blue the heavens above it bowed;
The sun was radiant, large, and glowing; And, see, a minister's structure proud
Stood in the rich light, golden showing. The clouds around it, sunny-clear,
Seemed bearing it aloft like pinions; Its spire-point seemed to disappear,
Slow vanishing in heaven's dominions.
The bell's clear tones, of rapture full,
Boomed in the tower and made it quiver; No mortal hand that rope did pull--
A dumb storm made it swing and shiver. It seemed to heave my throbbing breast,
That heavenly storm with torrent blended: With wavering step, yet hopeful quest,
Into the church my way I wended.
What met me there as in I trode
With syllables cannot be painted; Darksome yet clear, the windows glowed
With forms of all the martyrs sainted. Then saw I, radiantly unfurled,
Form swell to life and break its barriers; I looked abroad into a world
Of holy women and God's warriors.
Down at the alter I kneeled soft,
With love and prayer my heart allegiant: Upon the ceiling, far aloft,
Was painted Heaven's resplendent pageant; But when again I lift mine eyes,
Lo, the high vault has flown asunder! The upward gate wide open lies,
And every veil unveils a wonder.
What gloriousness I then beheld
With silent worship, speechless wonder; What blessed sounds upon me swelled,
Like organs' and like trumpets' thunder-- No human words could ever tell!--
But who for such is sighing sorest, Let him give heed unto the bell
That dimly soundeth in the forest.
THE DREAM.
In a garden sweet went walking
Two lovers hand in hand; Two pallid figures, low talking,
They sat in the flowery land.
They kissed on the cheek one another,
And they kissed upon the mouth; They held in their arms each the other,
And back came their health and youth.
Two little bells rang shrilly--
And the lovely dream was dead! She lay in the cloister chilly;
He afar on his dungeon-bed.