And then calm, equal, smooth with weights of joy, His voice rose, as some chief musician’s song Amid the old Jewish temple’s Selah-pause, And bade me mark how we two met at last Upon this moon-bathed promontory of earth, To give up much on each side, then take all. ‘Beloved,’ it sang, ‘we must be here to work; And men who work, can only work for men, And, not to work in vain, must comprehend Humanity, and, so, work humanly, And raise men’s bodies still by raising souls, As God did, first.’ ‘But stand upon the earth,’ I said, ‘to raise them,—(this is human too; There’s nothing high which has not first been low; My humbleness, said One, has made me great!) As God did, last.’ ‘And work all silently, And simply,’ he returned, ‘as God does all; Distort our nature never, for our work, Nor count our right hands stronger for being hoofs. The man most man, with tenderest human hands, Works best for men,—as God in Nazareth.’ He paused upon the word, and then resumed; ‘Fewer programmes; we who have no prescience. Fewer systems; we who are held and do not hold. Less mapping out of masses, to be saved, By nations or by sexes. Fourier’s void, And Comte is dwarfed,—and Cabet, puerile. Subsists no law of life outside of life; No perfect manners, without Christian souls: The Christ himself had been no Lawgiver, Unless He had given the life, too, with the law.’ I echoed thoughtfully—‘The man, most man, Works best for men: and, if most man indeed, He gets his manhood plainest from his soul: While, obviously, this stringent soul itself Obeys our old rules of development; The Spirit ever witnessing in ours, And Love, the soul of soul, within the soul, Evolving it sublimely. First, God’s love.’ ‘And next,’ he smiled, ‘the love of wedded souls, Which still presents that mystery’s counterpart. Sweet shadow-rose, upon the water of life, Of such a mystic substance, Sharon gave A name to! human, vital, fructuous rose, Whose calyx holds the multitude of leaves,— Loves filial, loves fraternal, neighbour-loves, And civic, ... all fair petals, all good scents, All reddened, sweetened from one central Heart!’ ‘Alas,’ I cried, ‘it was not long ago, You swore this very social rose smelt ill.’