Spiritist poetry
The child and the atheist *
A beautiful soul, boasted nonbeliever,
Strolled one day with a little boy
By the banks of a little river
Sheltered from the solar envoy.
The wise man sees the water running away
And asks his little friend:
What do you believe
This flow will one day end
When this valley it leaves?
Ah! The boy says, certainly this little creek
Will end at a placid lake.
This is where every river meets
And the eventful journey abates.
Poor boy! Says the coach,
Your mistake is bold!
You now learn and I teach
That everything is finite in this world.
When the water leaves the head
Bubbling waves out of the fountain
The aim is to find its final bed
Lost in the oceans where it shall remain.
The same happens to our pride
When we leave this seductive globe,
Nothing stays from this short ride
And the great hollow we all probe.
Oh God! Says the boy with a trembling voice,
Then it is true! That is in our way!
What? Will I never again rejoice?
With my mother when she passes away?
I used to think that her kind soul
Could still protect her little boy
Mitigating this life’s woe
Uniting one day around the Almighty’s joy!
You must always keep that belief,
Whispers his guardian seraph.
Yes, my dear, happiness is brief
Without hope in this Earth.
Time went on. Many years passed.
Our wise man transposed the portal of death.
Crazy thoughts always cherished,
He died denying God’s breath.
The young boy became old,
And the fearlessly man encountered death.
His faith was shinny as gold,
Returning to God in an eternal oath.
Look around, watch the devout crowd
Welcoming him from their heavenly isle:
Pure Spirits in their sacred shroud
Receiving their brother from his exile.
But who is that abandoned human
That seems to hide from everyone?
It is the unfortunate soul of the wise man
Who perceives happiness but enjoys none.
Ah! The master endured suffering, bitter and broad
When he saw the Almighty,
The strict judge, the very God
He denied, refusal to believe for eternity!
Ah! The hot tears of pain
Breaks the spirit that prides enslave!
He taught that hope was in vain,
To the little boy probing beyond the grave!
But the paternal kindness of God
Did not wish, oh no, to punish him forever.
Soon the regretful and humble soul asks the Lord
To once more to Earth return to endeavor.
Later on the redeemed and purified
Soul taken by the purest joy, returning
To heavens happy and satisfied
Will knell forever before the Everlasting.
Dulcis
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* See note about the guardian angel in the previous issue
The pumpkin and the sensitive(Fable)
What is your kind of diet, oh poor sensitive?
Asked a pumpkin to a delicate flower,
To remain light and slim, what is imperative?
I am afraid your power
Weakens with your sensitivity;
You shall die before the season;
The sun hides in the horizon,
Sleeping filaments: So little!
A dismal fear travels the style
Before the slightest breeze.
A simple touch cannot appease
The crisis; your life is a torment.
Why the pain of such greatness?
Follow my example of sweet quietness.
Whatever happens around me do not shake my ground;
I am only committed to hold still
With no intention to feel
The mysteries of heavens.
The clear light of dawn,
Heat and cold, moist and dark
It is all the same spark!
Sure, my round and sturdy shape
Inspires the observer to state:
The pumpkin vegetates.
I am not bothered by the saying
And in a well-fed bed I remain
Anxious to keep my ground
And with my size I abound.
Our tastes are different, says the little flower.
The only thing that matters
To you is the material life.
But I do better and strive
And even abbreviating my time
I choose for preference
The pleasures of life and intelligence
All lived in abundance.
Dombre (de Marmande)
