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The Piper and the Reed - Robert W. Norwood
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Piper and the Reed, by Robert Norwood
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Piper and the Reed
Author: Robert Norwood
Release Date: September 8, 2011 [EBook #36916]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PIPER AND THE REED ***
Produced by Al Haines
THE PIPER AND THE REED
Know you a garden near the road?
Its walls are very high;
A gift of dream on me bestowed,
And covered with the sky:
There one may walk and talk and talk,
Forgetful of aught else but friends,
When twilight into evening blends.
Sincerely yours, Robert Norwood
THE PIPER
AND THE REED
BY
ROBERT NORWOOD
AUTHOR OF THE WITCH OF ENDOR,
HIS LADY OF THE SONNETS,
ETC.
MCCLELLAND, GOODCHILD & STEWART
PUBLISHERS :: :: :: TORONTO
COPYRIGHT, 1917,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO
L. L. H.
CONTENTS
The Piper and the Reed
Aldebaran
Comrades
After the Order of Melchisedec
O Little Pale Pilgrim of Dream
A Song of Evolution
A Song of the Trinity
A Song of the Father
A Song of the Mother
A Song of the Son
Te Deum
O Will You Come With Me
The King of Glory
Matins
A Cradle Song of Life
A Song of the All
The Slow Emerger
A Song of the New Gods
The Optimist
Revelation
A Song of Workers
A Song of Battles
Can You Forget
Bartimæus
The Cock
The Stream
The One Oblation
A Question
Combatants
On the Wide, White Road
That One Should Love Me
Rahab
On Guard
The Ploughman
Dear Little Maid of Dream
The Violet to the Aster
Magic
The King and the Maid
A Woman's Prayer
Foeman
Geraint
Grief
The Empty Room
Love Eternal
After the Feast
The Lonely Road
THE PIPER AND THE REED
THE PIPER AND THE REED
I am a reed—a little reed
Down by the river,
A whim of God whose moment's need
Was that the Giver
Might blow melodious and long
One cadence of eternal song.
Through me are blown
Wild whisperings of wind from hills
No sun hath known.
The splendour that Orion spills
On purple space;
The golden loom of Leo's mane;
The scintillance of Vega's face;
Dim unto dark:
And great Arcturus' far refrain
Fades to a silence that is pain,
When, like a lark,
Riseth melodious and strong
That cadence of eternal song.
God is the Piper—I, the reed
Down by the river for His need.
One note in those vast melodies
Waited on me,
Or else the choral companies
Went silently
Complaining to the muted stars:
"What lack we yet that Discord bars
That infinite Processional?"
Or else the seraphim would call:
"Minstrels, your dulcimers let fall
And break the silvern psalteries!"
A little reed—a little reed!
And yet were silence of that song,
Failed I the river's pebbled brim,
Nor trembled never unto him—
The Piper! passing where we throng
Vibrant and ready for His need.
O Miracle!
He who in beauty goeth by
The marches of the meadowy sky,
A-piping on the many reeds
His canticle,
Paused in His playing;
For He found
An under-sound
Failed of the music that He made.
Wild winds went straying,
Like sheep lost on the daisied meads—
Scattered by Discord and afraid,
Lost from the fold
They knew of old.
My God had need
Of one more reed—
Had need of me
To make the perfect harmony.
I am that under-sound,
That needed note.
Eternally the Piper tried
Reed after reed until He found
Me growing by the river-side,
And laughing at the leaves that float
Forever down its burnished tide.
How frail my body is—how frail
And common of its kind;
A reed among a field of reeds
A-tremble to the wind—
The wind that threshes like a flail
Until my body bleeds!
Yet through me such wild music blows
The Piper laughs among the stars.
Know you the Piper? Little scars
Burn on His brow, each shoulder shows
Wounds of a knotted scourge that fell
To hurt Him from the hands of Hell!
Welcome, O Wind!
All hail, O Pain!
One little reed—one little reed,
To fill the Piper's far refrain,
Is broken till its body bleed;
Glad that the Minstrel Lord doth find
A tone of His eternal need.
ALDEBARAN
The minstrel tuned the triple strings—
His harp of many murmurings—
Then
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