Part 3

Thou art the Spirit of insurgent truth, Thou givest buried lore a second youth, Thou makest charity with wisdom grow, And provest falsehood but a losing throw.

Thou calledst Moses from the wealthy Nile And all the idols of fair Philae’s isle, To march for life beneath the desert sun And teach a rabble that their God was one.

And Thou didst barb the tongue of Socrates To sting a city settled on the lees, To lash the vice of fluent sophistry And crucify the shifting inward lie.

Thou plantedst pity in the Indian sage, Who conned the verses penned on sorrow’s page, And strove to cut by mental abstinence The silken cord that threads the beads of sense

But could not in himself his pity slake, And watching lotos blooms upon a lake, Which helpless sank or rose with every wave, Resolved all sinking souls to lift and save.

And Thou within a cloud of maiden white Didst form that sun of radiating light, Christ’s strong immaculate humanity, Transparent monstrance of His Deity.

He, sinless, trod the brink of sin’s abyss And for His love received a traitor’s kiss; Then driven by thy soft compelling breath He, who was Life, resigned himself to death.

He showed us that this fleshly house of sense Is not a nomad tent or barrier fence, But some fair chancel where thy vivid flame Might find an altar and reveal His name.

Come, Holy Ghost, and breathe from sea to sea, Give each his special fruit of liberty; Tear from deceit the scintillating robe, From Satan’s hands hurl down the rod and globe.

Break Thou the spirit of the lords of lust, Whose passions scatter an infected dust; Reduce the men for whom the poor have bled, Who elevate their gold as God and Bread.

Grant me a mind that may become thy lyre, A hate of hatred and a tongue of fire; And mid the clamour of all transient things Let me not miss the passage of thy wings.

XLVIII “ADORA ET TACE”

LOVE only is the school of love, And they who learn from Thee their art, Will find thy presence from above Touch altar, hand, and heart.

While others ask how Thou canst come, Or tell me when Thou goest away, Be mine to call Thee to my home, And know that Thou wilt stay.

While others all their worship weigh, And keenly blame the less or more, Be mine my lowly best to pay, “Be silent, and adore.”

Give me to keep thy new command, Who at thy precious blood was priced; Make all my world a holy land, Let all my life be Christ.

XLIX THE REFUGE OF THE WANDERING

COLD and cruel as the winds that carry Arctic hills of ice and snow, Past the cliffs where skirling sea-birds tarry And the seething breakers flow.

Burning as the Afric wind that races Northward from its desert land, Wind that blasts and covers green oases With its ropes of parching sand.

Rough and angry as the winds that bluster Where Tibetan temples shine, Winds like savage lancers come to muster On an Eastern frontier line.

Sad and blind as winds that wander sobbing, Where the raw Atlantic mist From the stars their pearly radiance robbing, Grips the shore with damp white fist.

So our souls from every quarter eddy, North and South and East and West, Jesu, till the wayward and the ready On thy heart all sink to rest.

L THE LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER

ON to the bank that recedes, On through the shadows that mock, Tearing my staff from the weeds, Bruising my feet on the rock, Caught by this Babe who appealed, Calling to echoes astray; Would that my heart I had steeled, Left Him to listen till day! Child, who dost crush me with weight, Child of the pitiful eyes, Whence didst Thou come to my gate? How didst Thou fool me to rise From my lone bed?

Sweeter than bells at the Mass, Older and newer than time, Charming the shadows to pass Ringeth His voice in a chime. Firm is the touch of His hands, Soft as my mother’s caress, Loosing my misery’s bands, Calming the wrath I confess. Child, who hast healed all my pain, Joy of my soul, must we part Just when the bank we shall gain? Blest be these feet on my heart! They too have bled.

LI THE LIGHT INVISIBLE

O LIGHT that lives on every hill and shore, Beyond the light that dies at close of day, The tears fill up the chalice of mine eyes With gladness, when I see Thee far away.

O Stream that flows until the world shall end, Past fretful town and hermitage and field, Red are thy waters, but they throb with peace; I touch their dew and all my wounds are healed.

O Voice that speaks in every grove and street, Above the song of birds and oaths of men, I hear and follow Thee, although my steps Begin a course that lies beyond my ken.

O Face returning at each Eucharist, More close than forms that change with changing years, I am the veil between myself and Thee, Burn Thou the veil, and burning, kill my fears.

O Guest that comes to take away our best, And all the loves we garner at our side, Thou art our Best, our Home art Thou. For Thee, Attentive I will labour and abide.

LII ONWARD

FAR, and how far it is not mine to tell, The hills of silken grey Enfold the vale, and yet above that fell The Shepherd knows a way.

Far, and how far it is not mine to guess, A sea of hungry waves Surrounds me, but the Pilot thwarts their stress With skill that guides and saves.

Far, and how far is all unknown to me, The many mansions lie Beyond the grave, yet will the Builder see And come to meet my cry.

LIII THE FAITHFUL DEPARTED

SAY what good-bye We owe to those who lived unstained by guile, Who seemed to die, But made their death a smile, As though to promise we should meet within A little while.

Is this good-bye, To sorrow o’er the blood-red pall of day, Till in the sky Faint tapers coldly pray; And think our joy died like the buried sun’s Last golden ray?

Is this good-bye, To tread on sallow leaves in autumn rain, And hear winds sigh An echo of our pain; And think that never can the bud-crowned spring Return again?

Is this good-bye, To watch the myriad falling flakes of snow Whirl down and lie Upon the fields below; And think the wonted path is now too dim For us to know?

Not so: good-bye Means faith in love kept warm by robes of white, Faith to deny The death of any light, Faith that to-morrow will be yesterday Without its night.

LIV LETHE

ERE we shall touch the jasper parapet, That God has set About His garden and the sea of glass, Shall we first pass Through some calm stream of soft forgetfulness And wash our hapless little joys away? And shall our souls in infant nakedness Emerge to bathe in God’s eternal day?

Shall we forget the garden roundelays Of piping Mays, When thrushes sang around the dewy lawns In roseleaf dawns, And tulips—purple, saffron, red and white,— Below the shade of box and fragrant bay, Would lift to heaven their well-poised heads, as bright As ever bloomed in Shiraz or Cathay?

Shall we forget the music of the sea, The virgin glee Which swayed beneath her robes dyed emerald, And so enthralled The vernal sun that he would downward shower More silver on her violet crystal fringe Than ever Sultan made his daughter’s dower Or locked in Istamboul with key and hinge?

Shall we forget our hearts did ever ache And slowly break, Because a dream by lightning truth was rent, Or we had spent A love too deep for one whole life to speak To gain a joy which proved too light to stay, As quickly fading as the tulip’s cheek, As fickle as the sea in witching May?

LV AVE ATQUE VALE

OUR life is but a rosary Of Hail and then Farewell; Some never read the mystery The onyx beads foretell.

They think each bead falls on the ground And spells another loss: God gathers them to make a round And seals it with His cross.

WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD. PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH

FOOTNOTES

{6} This poem is founded on a genuine study of the history of the gipsies, whose language was learnt by the writer in his boyhood.

{19} This poem refers to the mother of one of my friends. She was believed by the peasants on her estate to have been stolen by the fairies.