BETHESDA

A SEQUEL

I saw again the spirits on a day,

Where on the earth in mournful case they lay;
Five porches were there, and a pool, and round,
Huddling in blankets, strewn upon the ground,
Tied-up and bandaged, weary, sore and spent,
The maimed and halt, diseased and impotent.
For a great angel came, 'twas said, and stirred
The pool at certain seasons, and the word
Was, with this people of the sick, that they
Who in the waters here their limbs should lay 10
Before the motion on the surface ceased
Should of their torment straightway be released.
So with shrunk bodies and with heads down-
dropt,

Stretched on the steps, and at the pillars propt,
Watching by day and listening through the night,
They filled the place, a miserable sight.

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And I beheld that on the stony floor
He too, that spoke of duty once before,
No otherwise than others here to-day,
Foredone and sick and sadly muttering lay.
"I know not, I will do what is it I would say?
What was that word which once sufficed for all,
Which now I seek in vain, and never can recall?"
And then, as weary of in vain renewing
His question, thus his mournful thought pursuing,
"I know not, I must do as other men are doing."

But what the waters of that pool might be,
Of Lethe were they, or Philosophy;
And whether he, long waiting, did attain
Deliverance from the burden of his pain
There with the rest; or whether, yet before,
Some more diviner stranger passed the door
With his small company into that sad place,
And breathing hope into the sick man's face,
Bade him take up his bed, and rise and go,
What the end were, and whether it were so,
Further than this I saw not, neither know.

HOPE EVERMORE AND BELIEVE

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Hope evermore and believe, O man, for e'en as thy thought

So are the things that thou see'st; e'en as thy hope and belief.

Cowardly art thou and timid? they rise to provoke thee against them;

Hast thou courage? enough, see them exulting to yield.

Yea, the rough rock, the dull earth, the wild sea's furying waters

Go from the east to the west, as the sun and the stars direct thee.

Go with the girdle of man, go and encompass the earth.

Not for the gain of the gold; for the getting, the hoarding, the having,

But for the joy of the deed; but for the Duty to do.

Go with the spiritual life, the higher volition and action,

With the great girdle of God, go and encompass the earth.

Go; say not in thy heart, And what then were it

And yet her voice is in my dreams,

To witch me more and more; That wooing voice! Ah me, it seems Less near me than of yore.

Lightly I sped when hope was high,

And youth beguiled the chase;

I follow follow still; but I
Shall never see her Face.

MATTHEW ARNOLD (1822-1888)

TO A FRIEND

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Who prop, thou ask'st, in these bad days, my mind?
He much, the old man, who, clearest-soul'd of men,
Saw The Wide Prospect, and the Asian Fen,
And Tmolus' hill, and Smyrna's bay, though blind.
Much he, whose friendship I not long since won,
That halting slave, who in Nicopolis

Taught Arrian, when Vespasian's brutal son Clear'd Rome of what most sham'd him. But be his

My special thanks, whose even-balanc'd soul,
From first youth tested up to extreme old age, 10
Business could not make dull, nor Passion wild:
Who saw life steadily, and saw it whole:
The mellow glory of the Attic stage;
Singer of sweet Colonus, and its child.

Wherein we lie asleep,

Heavy as death, cold as the grave; Save, oh save.

When the Soul, growing clearer,

Sees God no nearer:

When the Soul, mounting higher,

To God comes no nigher:
But the arch-fiend Pride
Mounts at her side,
Foiling her high emprize,
Sealing her eagle eyes,

And, when she fain would soar,
Makes idols to adore;
Changing the pure emotion
Of her high devotion,
To a skin-deep sense

Of her own eloquence:
Strong to deceive, strong to enslave –
Save, oh save.

From the ingrain'd fashion
Of this earthly nature
That mars thy creature;
From grief, that is but passion;
From mirth, that is but feigning;
From tears, that bring no healing;
From wild and weak complaining;
Thine old strength revealing,
Save, oh save.

From doubt, where all is double:
Where wise men are not strong:
Where comfort turns to trouble:
Where just men suffer wrong:
Where sorrow treads on joy:

Where sweet things soonest cloy:
Where faiths are built on dust:
Where Love is half mistrust,

Hungry, and barren, and sharp as the sea;
Oh, set us free.

O let the false dream fly
Where our sick souls do lie

Tossing continually.

O where thy voice doth come
Let all doubts be dumb:
Let all words be mild:
All strifes be reconcil'd;
All pains beguil'd.
Light bring no blindness;
Love no unkindness;

In the caverns where we lay,
Through the surf and through the swell
The far-off sound of a silver bell?
Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep,
Where the winds are all asleep;
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam;
Where the salt weed sways in the stream;
Where the sea-beasts, rang'd all round,
Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground;
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,
Dry their mail and bask in the brine;
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye,
Round the world forever and aye?

When did music come this way?
Children dear, was it yesterday?

But, children, at midnight,
When soft the winds blow;
When clear falls the moonlight;
When spring-tides are low;
When sweet airs come seaward
From heaths starr'd with broom;
And high rocks throw mildly
On the blanch'd sands a gloom:
Up the still, glistening beaches,
Up the creeks we will hie;
Over banks of bright seaweed
The ebb-tide leaves dry.

We will gaze, from the sand-hills,

At the white, sleeping town;
At the church on the hill-side

And then come back down. Singing, "There dwells a lov'd one, But cruel is she.

She left lonely forever

The kings of the sea."

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MORALITY