Page:Roden Noel - A Little Child's Monument - 1881.pdf/149

Against that Mother-heart of all the world,
Who hath all souls beneath her warm wings curled
Invulnerable! however they may tremble,
And though her love one bitter hour dissemble
For their maturing; with a pitying smile
She views our wilful wandering awhile.
All are in all they were, and yet shall be,
Dawning to conscious self-identity.
For all is spirit, and the world is wrought
In one live loom of myriad-minded thought.
But what if all sink in the abyss of wrong,
And so by dark experience grow strong?
Embryo souls, who tortuously mount,
Like fallen water, to their natal fount!
Fair glories of a future flower feed
On degradation of her buried seed.
Tho' spheral music in dull hearts may sleep,
Sound but their own note, they will laugh and leap,
Even as dumb chords, or flames quiver and sing,
If their peculiar tone be vibrating.
The sun-god lies not dead within the shroud,
Tho' shorn of beams he dwindle in a cloud.

Yea, all the vaster souls in whom we fell
By right divine will rouse them from their hell,
To claim the royal heritage of sons.
And whatsoever beast, or elfin runs
Through alien regions of the realms of being,