Father Ryan’s Poems(来扬诗集)

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Father Ryan's Poems

By Abram J. Ryan

Poems: Patriotic, Religious, Miscellaneous.

Father Ryan's Poems

Song of the Mystic

I walk down the Valley of Silence -- Down the dim, voiceless valley

-- alone! And I hear not the fall of a footstep Around me, save God's and

my own; And the hush of my heart is as holy As hovers where angels

have flown!

Long ago was I weary of voices Whose music my heart could not

win; Long ago was I weary of noises That fretted my soul with their din;

Long ago was I weary of places Where I met but the human -- and sin.

I walked in the world with the worldly; I craved what the world

never gave; And I said: "In the world each Ideal, That shines like a star

on life's wave, Is wrecked on the shores of the Real, And sleeps like a

dream in a grave."

And still did I pine for the Perfect, And still found the False with the

True; I sought 'mid the Human for Heaven, But caught a mere glimpse

of its Blue: And I wept when the clouds of the Mortal Veiled even that

glimpse from my view.

And I toiled on, heart-tired, of the Human, And I moaned 'mid the

mazes of men, Till I knelt, long ago, at an altar And I heard a voice call

me. Since then I walk down the Valley of Silence That lies far beyond

mortal ken.

Do you ask what I found in the Valley? 'Tis my Trysting Place with

the Divine. And I fell at the feet of the Holy, And above me a voice said:

"Be mine." And there arose from the depths of my spirit An echo -- "My

heart shall be Thine."

Do you ask how I live in the Valley? I weep -- and I dream -- and I

pray. But my tears are as sweet as the dewdrops That fall on the roses in

May; And my prayer, like a perfume from censers, Ascendeth to God

night and day.

In the hush of the Valley of Silence I dream all the songs that I sing;

And the music floats down the dim Valley, Till each finds a word for a

wing, That to hearts, like the Dove of the Deluge, A message of Peace

they may bring.

Father Ryan's Poems

But far on the deep there are billows That never shall break on the

beach; And I have heard songs in the Silence That never shall float into

speech; And I have had dreams in the Valley Too lofty for language to

reach.

And I have seen Thoughts in the Valley -- Ah! me, how my spirit

was stirred! And they wear holy veils on their faces, Their footsteps can

scarcely be heard; They pass through the Valley like virgins, Too pure

for the touch of a word!

Do you ask me the place of the Valley, Ye hearts that are harrowed

by Care? It lieth afar between mountains, And God and His angels are

there: And one is the dark mount of Sorrow, And one the bright

mountain of Prayer.

Father Ryan's Poems

Reverie ["Only a few more years!"]

Only a few more years! Weary years! Only a few

more tears! Bitter tears! And then -- and then -- like other men, I

cease to wander, cease to weep, Dim shadows o'er my way shall creep;

And out of the day and into the night, Into the dark and out of the bright

I go, and Death shall veil my face, The feet of the years shall fast efface

My very name, and every trace I leave on earth; for the stern years tread --

Tread out the names of the gone and dead! And then, ah! then, like other

men, I close my eyes and go to sleep, Only a few, one hour, shall weep:

Ah! me, the grave is dark and deep!

Alas! Alas! How soon we pass! And ah! we go

So far away; When go we must, From the light of Life, and the heat of

strife, To the peace of Death, and the cold, still dust, We go -- we go --

we may not stay, We travel the lone, dark, dreary way; Out of the day

and into the night, Into the darkness, out of the bright. And then, ah! then,

like other men, We close our eyes and go to sleep; We hush our hearts

and go to sleep; Only a few, one hour, shall weep: Ah! me, the grave is

lone and deep!

I saw a flower, at morn, so fair; I passed at eve, it was not there. I

saw a sunbeam, golden bright, I saw a cloud the sunbeam's shroud,

And I saw night Digging the grave of day; And day took off her golden

crown, And flung it sorrowfully down. Ah! day, the Sun's fair bride! At

twilight moaned and died. And so, alas! like day we pass: At morn we

smile, At eve we weep, At morn we wake, In night we sleep.

We close our eyes and go to sleep: Ah! me, the grave is still and deep!

But God is sweet. My mother told me so, When I

knelt at her feet Long -- so long -- ago; She clasped my hands in

hers. Ah! me, that memory stirs My soul's profoundest deep -- No

wonder that I weep. She clasped my hands and smiled, Ah! then I was a

child -- I knew not harm -- My mother's arm Was flung around

me; and I felt That when I knelt To listen to my mother's prayer, God

was with my mother there.

Father Ryan's Poems

Yea! "God is sweet!" She told me so; She never told me wrong;

And through my years of woe Her whispers soft, and sad, and low, And

sweet as Angel's song, Have floated like a dream.

And, ah! to-night I seem A very child in my old, old place, Beneath

my mother's blessed face, And through each sweet remembered word, This

sweetest undertone is heard: "My child! my child! our God is sweet, In

Life -- in Death -- kneel at his feet -- Sweet in gladness, sweet in gloom,

Sweeter still beside the tomb." Why should I wail? Why ought I weep?

The grave -- it is not dark and deep; Why should I sigh? Why ought I

moan? The grave -- it is not still and lone; Our God is sweet, our grave is

sweet, We lie there sleeping at His feet, Where the wicked shall from

troubling cease, And weary hearts shall rest in peace!

Father Ryan's Poems

Lines -- 1875

Go down where the wavelets are kissing the shore, And ask of them

why do they sigh? The poets have asked them a thousand times o'er, But

they're kissing the shore as they kissed it before, And they're sighing to-

day, and they'll sigh evermore. Ask them what ails them: they will not

reply; But they'll sigh on forever and never tell why! Why does your

poetry sound like a sigh? The waves will not answer you; neither shall I.

Go stand on the beach of the blue boundless deep, When the night

stars are gleaming on high, And hear how the billows are moaning in sleep,

On the low lying strand by the surge-beaten steep. They're moaning

forever wherever they sweep. Ask them what ails them: they never reply;

They moan, and so sadly, but will not tell why Why does your poetry

sound like a sigh? The waves will not answer you; neither shall I.

Go list to the breeze at the waning of day, When it passes and murmurs

"Good-bye." The dear little breeze -- how it wishes to stay Where the

flowers are in bloom, where the singing birds play; How it sighs when it

flies on its wearisome way. Ask it what ails it: it will not reply; Its voice

is a sad one, it never told why. Why does your poetry sound like a sigh?

The breeze will not answer you; neither shall I.

Go watch the wild blasts as they spring from their lair, When the shout

of the storm rends the sky; They rush o'er the earth and they ride thro' the

air And they blight with their breath all the lovely and fair, And they groan

like the ghosts in the "land of despair". Ask them what ails them: they

never reply; Their voices are mournful, they will not tell why. Why does

your poetry sound like a sigh? The blasts will not answer you; neither

shall I.

Go stand on the rivulet's lily-fringed side, Or list where the rivers rush

by; The streamlets which forest trees shadow and hide, And the rivers that

roll in their oceanward tide, Are moaning forever wherever they glide; Ask

them what ails them: they will not reply. On -- sad voiced -- they flow,

but they never tell why. Why does your poetry sound like a sigh? Earth's

streams will not answer you; neither shall I.

Father Ryan's Poems

Go list to the voices of air, earth and sea, And the voices that sound in

the sky; Their songs may be joyful to some, but to me There's a sigh in

each chord and a sigh in each key, And thousands of sighs swell their

grand melody. Ask them what ails them: they will not reply. They sigh --

sigh forever -- but never tell why. Why does your poetry sound like a sigh?

Their lips will not answer you; neither shall I.

Father Ryan's Poems

A Memory

One bright memory shines like a star In the sky of my spirit forever;

And over my pathway it flashes afar A radiance that perishes never.

One bright memory -- only one; And I walk by the light of its

gleaming; It brightens my days, and when days are done It shines in the

night o'er my dreaming.

One bright memory, whose golden rays Illumine the gloom of my

sorrows, And I know that its lustre will gladden my gaze In the shadows

of all my to-morrows.

One bright memory; when I am sad I lift up my eyes to its shining,

And the clouds pass away, and my spirit grows glad, And my heart

hushes all its repining.

One bright memory; others have passed Back into the shadows

forever; But it, far and fair, bright and true to the last, Sheds a light that

will pass away never.

Shine on, shine always, thou star of my days! And when Death's

starless night gathers o'er me, Beam brighter than ever adown on my gaze,

And light the dark valley before me.

Father Ryan's Poems

Rhyme

One idle day -- A mile or so of sunlit waves off shore -- In a

breezeless bay, We listless lay -- Our boat a "dream of rest" on the

still sea -- And -- we were four.

The wind had died That all day long sang songs unto the deep;

It was eventide, And far and wide Sweet silence crept thro' the rifts

of sound With spells of sleep.

Our gray sail cast The only cloud that flecked the foamless sea;

And weary at last Beside the mast One fell to slumber with a dreamy

face, And -- we were three.

No ebb! no flow! No sound! no stir in the wide, wondrous calm;

In the sunset's glow The shore shelved low And snow-white, from

far ridges screened with shade Of drooping palm.

Our hearts were hushed; All light seemed melting into boundless

blue; But the west was flushed Where sunset blushed, Thro'

clouds of roses, when another slept And -- we were two.

How still the air! Not e'en a sea-bird o'er us waveward flew;

Peace rested there! Light everywhere! Nay! Light! some shadows

fell on that fair scene, And -- we are two.

Some shadows! Where? No matter where! all shadows are not

seen; For clouds of care To skies all fair Will sudden rise as

tears to shining eyes, And dim their sheen.

We spake no word, Tho' each I ween did hear the other's soul.

Not a wavelet stirred, And yet we heard The loneliest music of the

weariest waves That ever roll.

Yea! Peace, you swayed Your sceptre jeweled with the evening

light; And then you said: "Here falls no shade, Here floats no

sound, and all the seas and skies Sleep calm and bright."

Nay! Peace, not so! The wildest waves may feel thy sceptre's

spell And fear to flow, But to and fro -- Beyond their reach lone

waves on troubled seas Will sink and swell.

No word e'en yet; Were our eyes speaking while they watched the

Father Ryan's Poems

sky? And in the sunset Infinite regret Swept sighing from the

skies into our souls -- I wonder why?

A half hour passed -- 'Twas more than half an age; 'tis ever thus.

Words came at last, Fluttering and fast As shadows veiling sunsets in

the souls Of each of us.

The noiseless night Sped flitting like a ghost where waves of blue

Lost all their light, As lips once bright Whence smiles have fled; we

or the wavelets sighed, And -- we were two.

The day had gone: And on the dim, high altar of the dark,

Stars, one by one, Far, faintly shone; The moonlight trembled, like a

mother's smile, Upon our bark.

We softly spoke: The waves seemed listening on the lonely sea,

The winds awoke; Our whispers broke The spell of silence; and two

eyes unclosed, And -- we were three.

"The breeze blows fair," He said; "the waking waves set towards

the shore." The long brown hair Of the other there, Who

slumbered near the mast with dreamy face Stirred -- we were four.

That starry night, A mile or so of shadows from the shore,

Two faces bright With laughter light Shone on two souls like stars

that shine on shrines; And -- we were four.

Over the reach Of dazzling waves our boat like wild bird flew;

We reached the beach, Nor song, nor speech Shall ever tell our

sacramental thought When -- we were two.

Nocturne ["I sit to-night by the firelight,"]

I sit to-night by the firelight, And I look at the glowing flame, And I

see in the bright red flashes A Heart, a Face, and a Name.

How often have I seen pictures Framed in the firelight's blaze, Of

hearts, of names, and of faces, And scenes of remembered days!

How often have I found poems In the crimson of the coals, And the

swaying flames of the firelight Unrolled such golden scrolls.

And my eyes, they were proud to read them, In letters of living

flame, But to-night, in the fire, I see only One Heart, one Face, and one

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FatherRyan'sPoems1FatherRyan'sPoemsByAbramJ.RyanPoems:Patriotic,Religious,Miscellaneous.FatherRyan'sPoems2SongoftheMysticIwalkdowntheValleyofSilence--Downthedim,voicelessvalley--alone!AndIhearnotthefallofafootstepAroundme,saveGod'sandmyown;AndthehushofmyheartisasholyAshoverswhereangelshaveflown!Long...

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Father Ryan’s Poems(来扬诗集)

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