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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396004" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Sword Of Pain</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Lights burn dim and make weird shadow-play,<br>The white walls of the ward are changed to grey,<br>Down the long aisle of beds, with tender grace,<br>Sleep smoothes the lines on many a weary face;<br>Yet there are those for whom no midnight brings<br>Solace and strength to face the day again,<br>And, over all, with wide majestic wings,<br>There broods the awful mystery of Pain. <br>Night wears apace, and now the silence breaks<br>As here and there some fitful slumberer wakes;<br>And Pain triumphant—Pain with burning grip—<br>Wrings grudging tribute from the tortured lip:<br>A strong man’s groan, a boy’s short sobbing cry,<br>Pierces the stillness with a sudden breath,<br>Or the low moan of long-drawn agony,<br>Asking not respite but the boon of Death. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here, in the halls of suffering, eye to eye,<br>Men measure Death, and mark if he pass by;<br>Here, in the halls of suffering, swings the strife<br>Wherein man’s skill and Death contest for life;<br>Here woman moves in tenderest ministeries,<br>With gracious hands that calm the throbbing brain:<br>Skill and compassion facing fell disease,<br>And mercy watching by the bed of pain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! Night and day, in armour like the snow,<br>Patient and brave, the grey-robed nurses go,<br>With light swift steps, low voices, cheery smiles,<br>From bed to bed, adown those dolorous aisles—<br>Angels of Succour, girt with snowy mail,<br>As warriors donned of old their armour bright:<br>Serene, when danger bids the bravest quail,<br>Against the batteries of Death they fight. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here, in the restless night, upon my bed,<br>Whilst bands of steel seem tight’ning round my head,<br>Strong tides are rushing through my heart and brain<br>The Goal of Life? The Mystery of Pain?<br>Now on the rising wind that roars without<br>Murmurs and discord mingle till it seems<br>The Voice of the World’s Wounded, and about<br>Me seem to be the dreams that are not dreams. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Wherefore, Great Architect, whose power august<br>Buildeth the universe of very dust,<br>And that imperial Palace of the Mind<br>More stately than the stars; who dost not bind<br>Thought that can conquer Nature, and above<br>The power of Mind hast set the power of Love—<br>O Thou, who weavest through this web of strife<br>Strands of great agony and bloody rue—<br>Must we still search this labyrinth of Life<br>To perish groping blindly for the clue?” </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Even as I cried the grey walls fell away,<br>The long ward vanished in the glare of day,<br>The broad world spread before me, and I saw<br>Thousands lie stretched in the red swathes of War,<br>In rigid wreck, like fields of storm-crushed corn—<br>Grey faces twisted to a horrid smile,<br>And limbs and piteous bodies wrenched and torn,<br>Mangled unspeakably, strewn pile on pile. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I turned to Peace amid her olive trees:<br>Great cities rose before me, villages,<br>The spacious mansion and the lonely cot—<br>There was no door that Pain had entered not.<br>I heard like sobbings of an unseen tide<br>Its keen fire run through all things, and I said:<br>“Peace masks a secret war on every side.<br>There is no rest from travail: God is dead.” </div><div style="margin:10px 0">No more the solid earth my footsteps prest;<br>The wide sky caught me upward to its breast.<br>The living ether seemed a quick’ning sea,<br>Where thrilled unseen the germs of worlds to be.<br>At times I seemed to move upon the verge<br>Of some vast viewless current streaming far,<br>And my brain quivered, as, with mighty surge,<br>Strange thought-waves swept the gulfs from star to star. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In ordered majesty each System runs,<br>With mighty planets circling sovran suns,<br>And strange pale moons like ghosts that haunt the scene<br>Of their once living glory; and serene,<br>Slow dying stars, dreaming of days forgot,<br>Of silent worlds and ancient memories—<br>White mountain-crest, dense forest, secret grot,<br>Wide plains, wild shores, the crash of plunging seas. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like a blown leaf, caught by the vagrant air<br>That still ascends, I mounted: Everywhere<br>Dead suns and satellites—a lightless train<br>In darkness rushing to be born again—<br>Hurled through the void, or, by fierce shock redeemed,<br>Blazed back to life, and flushed with splendour bright<br>Thronged spaces and dark rolling orbs that seemed<br>Millions of black motes in a sea of light. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There is a river whose imperial flow<br>Circles the mid-most heaven with broad’ning glow;<br>Its fiery waves are rays of suns supreme,<br>Crimson and gold its changing currents gleam,<br>And blue and purest white, and in its tide<br>Move worlds unnumbered and the starry dust<br>That builds new suns and powers that shall abide<br>To rule new regions with a sway august. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Within the airy isle its waters fold<br>Seven mighty suns circle in quiv’ring gold;<br>And, over all, uplift above the gire,<br>Shaped like a cross, a Sword of Living Fire!<br>Emerald and amber, opal, white and blue<br>Swift lights, keen tremors flash from point to hilt;<br>And now blood-red it throbs, as though it knew<br>The whole world’s agony, the whole world’s guilt. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is The Cross, sublime, uplifted high;<br>Great flames break from it, floating down the sky;<br>As though the blood of Him who, undismayed,<br>Suffered our sins, dript from its burning blade—<br>As though the blood of all earth’s noblest ones,<br>Dreamers and heroes, fell in fiery rain<br>To temper worlds new-born, and mightier suns—<br>The Sword of Victory! The Sword of Pain! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Trembling, I spake before that awful sword:<br>“Where is the golden city of the Lord,<br>With gates of pearl, and on its crystal sea<br>Peace and the solace of Eternity?”<br>Then, like a flash, I knew the air around<br>Was living ether, and I felt the gaze<br>Of myriad eyes unseen, and heard the sound<br>As of vast music known in far-off days. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There fell a star across the ’brow of Night,<br>And a voice answered, echoing from the height:<br>“The gods ye fashion perish one by one,<br>The Living God endures when all are gone.<br>Fool, canst thou know Th’ Eternal in a day?<br>Can mortal judge The Immortal face to face,<br>Who of the star-dust buildeth as He may,<br>And takes for throne the regions of all Space?” </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Eternal Spirit, immanent, apart,<br>Thou, in the living temple of the Heart,<br>Lightest thine altar-fires that souls may reign<br>O’er worlds not yet create, and makest pain<br>The discipline of Life, the seal of worth,<br>The test of courage, and the burning star<br>That leads through vales of darkness to re-birth,<br>To loftier life and victory afar! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! Not in golden city nor crystal sea,<br>But in wide circles of Infinity,<br>Our work is set; and not from harps of gold,<br>But hearts of men, deep harmonies are rolled!<br>Vast powers stir around us, and our course may be<br>By other paths than those our fathers trod;<br>And Science, with her torch, unconsciously,<br>Through strange new realms may lead men back to God. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He knows not Life who hath not felt the breath<br>Nor gazed once in the mocking eyes of Death.<br>The purest springs, the waters without stain,<br>Well upward from the burning heart of Pain.<br>Behold I saw in purest air afar<br>A great light dawn and widen and increase,<br>With white flame crested like a perfect star,<br>Above the Sword of Pain—the Crown of Peace!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=George+Essex+Evans">George Essex Evans</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396004" data-title="The Sword Of Pain de George Essex Evans" data-description="The Lights burn dim and make weird shadow-play,
The white walls of the ward are changed to grey,
Down the long aisle of beds, with tender grace,
Sleep smoothes the lines on many a weary face;
Yet there are those for whom no midnight brings
Solace ..."></div>
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