The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1888-01-08
Twilight at Nazareth.


Thou leaf bound, hill built Nazareth
So lorn, and yet so fair to seel
Thy restful footworn, hill-bent path
Thy gray, time torn pomegranate tree
Thy fountain in thy heart thy hallowed hill
Thy heart, thy Virgin 8 Fountain, flowing still
see the trailing briony
Along thy level nousetops creep
And droop low down, droop solemnly
AS droop dark wells where women weep.
can but think upon that dread third day
When women came to roll the stone away
Thy lilies blossom still the same
In lowly places, and thy hills
Yet blaze with peoples and the flame
OF yellow fax. The cricket trills
His homey hearthstone symphony at eve,
Still clad in black, If he still would grieve.
Thy crimson salvias like a sea
Still battle thy levels and thy steps,
Bright iris, bright anemone,
Bright purple mallows and bright deeps
Of dandelion still dash the marigold
And pile thy fowery glories folo on fold.
Thy valleys still are fruitful, fair,
Forsakng not forgetting naught
OF perfect raiment, nor tbs rare
High walk of holy beauty taught
By One most beautiful by One who spake
In speech like flowers; for God-born beauty's sake.
These flowers are Gods own syllables,
They plead so lovingly they lead
SO gently upward to His h'lls
If we might only learn to read
If we might only learn to read and know
Christs book of eighteen hundred years agol
/ think we then should all rejoice,
Should know the beauteous mysteries,
Should Joy with wide common voice
As Joy the great earthcircling seas!
Could we but read as Christ would have u read,
We then might know the living God indeed!
And this the lesson, this the book
That lies wide open now then.
Come, read one SYLLABLE come. look
How broader than the books of meni
Come, catch the pathos of this harmony
Of beauteous toil-then all the world is free
And dost thou stricken SOUL complain,
Behold the crushed blooms at thy feet;
Their glory is to rise again
And yield their sweetness still more sweet.
And wouldst thou then be less, o man, than They'll
The Lord, He gave-the Lord shall take away.
And dost thou toling man. complain
Where God tolls eternallyf
Behold the patient still, small rain;
Behold the labors of the
The toiling huge and heavy laden waves
That heave the shores in shape like Bonded slaves.
Sit down in this white, quiet town
And hear the Virgins fountain flow.
Two Inaidens with their eyes held down.
And noiseless-footed come and go
Two large eyed maidens, stately, tall and fair,
With jar on palm poised in the Silly air.
An OK creeps by; his ereaking yoke
His large calm eyes, his faithfulness
Smite on u like q sudden stroke
OF keen reproach at idleness.
Two doves fly down; they still, you think
You hear them reach their changefu threats drink
A far-off fail, a mufied loom,
leaf that hestates TO fall,
A stiffness lying like q gloom,
gloom that nantes like pail,
A pail that has possessed the ample air
Ard wrapped its robe of stiffness everywhere!
For He is gone. Birds of the air
Still. have their nests the foxes still
his lilies blossom by the HILL
But lie is gone Yet Sabbath seems to stay,
As il 70 wait His coming back Away
Joaquin Miller. In American Magazine.