AT THE END OF THINGS

THE world uprose as a man to find Him-
   Ten thousand methods, ten thousand ends-
Some bent on treasure; the more on pleasure;
   And some on the chaplet which fame attends;
But the great deep's voice in the distance dim
Said: Peace, it is well; they are seeking Him.

When I heard that all the world was questing,
   I look'd for a palmer's staff and found,
By a reed-fringed pond, a fork'd hazel-wand
   On a twisted tree, in a bann'd waste-ground;
But I knew not then what the sounding strings
Of the sea-harps say at the end of things.

They told me, world, you were keen on seeking;
   I cast around for a scrip to hold
Such meagre needs as the roots of weeds-
   All weeds, but one with a root of gold;
Yet I knew not then how the clangs ascend
When the sea-horns peal and the searchings end.

An old worn wallet was that they gave me,
   With twelve old signs on its seven old skins;
And a star I stole for the good of my soul,
   Lest the darkness came down on my sins;
For I knew not who in their life had heard
Of the sea-pipes shrilling a secret word.

I join'd the quest that the world was making,
   Which follow'd the false ways far and wide,
While a thousand cheats in the lanes and streets
   Offer'd that wavering crowd to guide;
But what did they know of the sea-reed's speech
When the peace-words breathe at the end for each?

The fools fell down in the swamps and marshes;
    The fools died hard on the crags and hills;
The lies which cheated, so long repeated,
   Deceived, in spite of their evil wills,
Some knaves themselves at the end of all-
Though how should they hearken when sea-flutes call?

But me the scrip and the staff had strengthen'd;
   I carried the star; that star led me:
The paths I've taken, of most forsaken,
   Do surely lead to an open sea:
As a clamour of voices heard in sleep,
Come shouts through the dark on the shrouded deep.

Now it is noon; in the hush prevailing
   Pipes, harps and horns into flute-notes fall;
The sea, conceding my star's true leading,
   In tongues sublime at the end of all
Gives resonant utterance far and near:-
         "Cast away fear;
          Be of good cheer;
          He is here,
             Is here!"

And now I know that I sought Him only
   Even as child, when for flowers I sought;
In the sins of youth, as in search for truth,
   To find Him, hold Him alone I wrought.
The knaves too seek Him, and fools beguiled
So speak to them also, sea-voices mild!

Which then was wisdom and which was folly?
   Did my star more than the cozening guide?
The fool, as I think, at the chasm's brink,
   Prone by the swamp or the marsh's side,
Did, even as I, in the end rejoice,
Since the voice of death must be His true voice.