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The Three Guides. [First published in Fraser's Magazine.]

by Anne Bronte

Spirit of Earth! thy hand is chill:

I've felt its icy clasp;

And, shuddering, I remember still

That stony-hearted grasp.

Thine eye bids love and joy depart:

Oh, turn its gaze from me!

It presses down my shrinking heart;

I will not walk with thee!

"Wisdom is mine," I've heard thee say:

"Beneath my searching eye

All mist and darkness melt away,

Phantoms and fables fly.

Before me truth can stand alone,

The naked, solid truth;

And man matured by worth will own,

If I am shunned by youth.

"Firm is my tread, and sure though slow;

My footsteps never slide;

And he that follows me shall know

I am the surest guide."

Thy boast is vain; but were it true

That thou couldst safely steer

Life's rough and devious pathway through,

Such guidance I should fear.

How could I bear to walk for aye,

With eyes to earthward prone,

O'er trampled weeds and miry clay,

And sand and flinty stone;

Never the glorious view to greet

Of hill and dale, and sky;

To see that Nature's charms are sweet,

Or feel that Heaven is nigh?

If in my heart arose a spring,

A gush of thought divine,

At once stagnation thou wouldst bring

With that cold touch of thine.

If, glancing up, I sought to snatch

But one glimpse of the sky,

My baffled gaze would only catch

Thy heartless, cold grey eye.

If to the breezes wandering near,

I listened eagerly,

And deemed an angel's tongue to hear

That whispered hope to me,

That heavenly music would be drowned

In thy harsh, droning voice;

Nor inward thought, nor sight, nor sound,

Might my sad soul rejoice.

Dull is thine ear, unheard by thee

The still, small voice of Heaven;

Thine eyes are dim and cannot see

The helps that God has given.

There is a bridge o'er every flood

Which thou canst not perceive;

A path through every tangled wood,

But thou wilt not believe.

Striving to make thy way by force,

Toil-spent and bramble-torn,

Thou'lt fell the tree that checks thy course,

And burst through brier and thorn:

And, pausing by the river's side,

Poor reasoner! thou wilt deem,

By casting pebbles in its tide,

To cross the swelling stream.

Right through the flinty rock thou'lt try

Thy toilsome way to bore,

Regardless of the pathway nigh

That would conduct thee o'er

Not only art thou, then, unkind,

And freezing cold to me,

But unbelieving, deaf, and blind:

I will not walk with thee!

Spirit of Pride! thy wings are strong,

Thine eyes like lightning shine;

Ecstatic joys to thee belong,

And powers almost divine.

But 'tis a false, destructive blaze

Within those eyes I see;

Turn hence their fascinating gaze;

I will not follow thee.

"Coward and fool!" thou mayst reply,

Walk on the common sod;

Go, trace with timid foot and eye

The steps by others trod.

'Tis best the beaten path to keep,

The ancient faith to hold;

To pasture with thy fellow-sheep,

And lie within the fold.

"Cling to the earth, poor grovelling worm;

'Tis not for thee to soar

Against the fury of the storm,

Amid the thunder's roar!

There's glory in that daring strife

Unknown, undreamt by thee;

There's speechless rapture in the life

Of those who follow me.

Yes, I have seen thy votaries oft,

Upheld by thee their guide,

In strength and courage mount aloft

The steepy mountain-side;

I've seen them stand against the sky,

And gazing from below,

Beheld thy lightning in their eye

Thy triumph on their brow.

Oh, I have felt what glory then,

What transport must be theirs!

So far above their fellow-men,

Above their toils and cares;

Inhaling Nature's purest breath,

Her riches round them spread,

The wide expanse of earth beneath,

Heaven's glories overhead!

But I have seen them helpless, dash'd

Down to a bloody grave,

And still thy ruthless eye has flash'd,

Thy strong hand did not save;

I've seen some o'er the mountain's brow

Sustain'd awhile by thee,

O'er rocks of ice and hills of snow

Bound fearless, wild, and free.

Bold and exultant was their mien,

While thou didst cheer them on;

But evening fell,--and then, I ween,

Their faithless guide was gone.

Alas! how fared thy favourites then,--

Lone, helpless, weary, cold?

Did ever wanderer find again

The path he left of old?

Where is their glory, where the pride

That swelled their hearts before?

Where now the courage that defied

The mightiest tempest's roar?

What shall they do when night grows black,

When angry storms arise?

Who now will lead them to the track

Thou taught'st them to despise?

Spirit of Pride, it needs not this

To make me shun thy wiles,

Renounce thy triumph and thy bliss,

Thy honours and thy smiles!

Bright as thou art, and bold, and strong,

That fierce glance wins not me,

And I abhor thy scoffing tongue--

I will not follow thee!

Spirit of Faith! be thou my guide,

O clasp my hand in thine,

And let me never quit thy side;

Thy comforts are divine!

Earth calls thee blind, misguided one,--

But who can shew like thee

Forgotten things that have been done,

And things that are to be?

Secrets conceal'd from Nature's ken,

Who like thee can declare?

Or who like thee to erring men

God's holy will can bear?

Pride scorns thee for thy lowly mien,--

But who like thee can rise

Above this toilsome, sordid scene,

Beyond the holy skies?

Meek is thine eye and soft thy voice,

But wondrous is thy might,

To make the wretched soul rejoice,

To give the simple light!

And still to all that seek thy way

This magic power is given,--

E'en while their footsteps press the clay,

Their souls ascend to heaven.

Danger surrounds them,--pain and woe

Their portion here must be,

But only they that trust thee know

What comfort dwells with thee;

Strength to sustain their drooping pow'rs,

And vigour to defend,--

Thou pole-star of my darkest hours

Affliction's firmest friend!

Day does not always mark our way,

Night's shadows oft appal,

But lead me, and I cannot stray,--

Hold me, I shall not fall;

Sustain me, I shall never faint,

How rough soe'er may be

My upward road,--nor moan, nor plaint

Shall mar my trust in thee.

Narrow the path by which we go,

And oft it turns aside

From pleasant meads where roses blow,

And peaceful waters glide;

Where flowery turf lies green and soft,

And gentle gales are sweet,

To where dark mountains frown aloft,

Hard rocks distress the feet,--

Deserts beyond lie bleak and bare,

And keen winds round us blow;

But if thy hand conducts me there,

The way is right, I know.

I have no wish to turn away;

My spirit does not quail,--

How can it while I hear thee say,

"Press forward and prevail!"

Even above the tempest's swell

I hear thy voice of love,--

Of hope and peace, I hear thee tell,

And that blest home above;

Through pain and death I can rejoice.

If but thy strength be mine,--

Earth hath no music like thy voice,

Life owns no joy like thine!

Spirit of Faith, I'll go with thee!

Thou, if I hold thee fast,

Wilt guide, defend, and strengthen me,

And bear me home at last;

By thy help all things I can do,

In thy strength all things bear,--

Teach me, for thou art just and true,

Smile on me, thou art fair!