 | The hours of the passion and other poems |  |
8
ST. PETER
Thou didst say, ‘Come!’—one supreme minute's space—
I know not how I came, but I was there;
Coming to Thee;—I only saw Thy face,
Treading on earth, on water, or on air.
I know not how I came, but I was there;
Coming to Thee;—I only saw Thy face,
Treading on earth, on water, or on air.
I knew not, were I body or spirit then;
I only felt that I was free, was free;
God's Kingdom opened to the sons of men,
The fetters of the flesh dropped off from me.
I only felt that I was free, was free;
God's Kingdom opened to the sons of men,
The fetters of the flesh dropped off from me.
I walked upon the waters, and the whole
Enraptured moonlit universe was thrilled
With the same glory of the sovereign soul,
With the same ecstasy of love was filled.
Enraptured moonlit universe was thrilled
With the same glory of the sovereign soul,
With the same ecstasy of love was filled.
Then all was o'er, and only hand of Thine
Saved me, at point to perish in the sea;
And yet that moment's memory still is mine,
Knowing that what has been again may be.
Saved me, at point to perish in the sea;
And yet that moment's memory still is mine,
Knowing that what has been again may be.
I was eye-witness of Thy Majesty
Upon the Holy Mount; I heard and saw,
Loosed from the limits of mortality,
Unblinded by the overshadowing awe,
Upon the Holy Mount; I heard and saw,
Loosed from the limits of mortality,
Unblinded by the overshadowing awe,
9
Thy glory excellent; I bore to gaze
On Thy transfigured countenance Divine,
White as the sun, and lived within its blaze;
I cannot call it back, but it was mine.
On Thy transfigured countenance Divine,
White as the sun, and lived within its blaze;
I cannot call it back, but it was mine.
I heard the Voice, the Voice from out the cloud,
Rolling in thunder, but more tender even
Than Mary's: ‘This My Son,’ It said aloud,
‘This My Belovèd,’ yea the Voice from Heaven.
Rolling in thunder, but more tender even
Than Mary's: ‘This My Son,’ It said aloud,
‘This My Belovèd,’ yea the Voice from Heaven.
I saw Thee at Thy highest, in the life
Neither of earth nor Heaven, but on that height
Midway, where flesh and spirit have no strife;
With Thee I entered that transcendent light.
Neither of earth nor Heaven, but on that height
Midway, where flesh and spirit have no strife;
With Thee I entered that transcendent light.
Alas! I did not see Thee at Thy lowest!
Was I not one whom Thou to take didst choose
Into the Garden with Thee, and Thou knowest
When Thou hadst need of me I did refuse.
Was I not one whom Thou to take didst choose
Into the Garden with Thee, and Thou knowest
When Thou hadst need of me I did refuse.
I did not see, I think that none did see,
The face that leaned above me, and that found
Me sleeping, sought for comfort even from me;—
Oh, my lost hour of hours, no time brings round!
The face that leaned above me, and that found
Me sleeping, sought for comfort even from me;—
Oh, my lost hour of hours, no time brings round!
No more of that night! In my heart a sword
Is fixed, and hardly I the lifelong pain
Endure, and only on Thy breast, O Lord,
Dare I uncover that deep wound again.
Is fixed, and hardly I the lifelong pain
Endure, and only on Thy breast, O Lord,
Dare I uncover that deep wound again.
Marvel on marvel, could I count them all!
What should man rise to with such grace immense?
For me remains the memory of my fall,
And nothing great in me but penitence.
What should man rise to with such grace immense?
For me remains the memory of my fall,
And nothing great in me but penitence.
10
I am Thy Peter, he whom Thou didst name;
And on this Rock it was, Thou didst foretell
That Thou wouldst build Thy Church, and that the same
Should stand in strength against the gates of Hell.
And on this Rock it was, Thou didst foretell
That Thou wouldst build Thy Church, and that the same
Should stand in strength against the gates of Hell.
Yes, it is Peter, now so old and poor,
Who once with Thee was young in Galilee;
To whom so much Thou gavest:—ever sure
Thy word shall stand, but what shall stand of me?
Who once with Thee was young in Galilee;
To whom so much Thou gavest:—ever sure
Thy word shall stand, but what shall stand of me?
The servant of Thy servants in distress,—
What of that charge Thou gavest me to keep?
I bring Thee but my fault, my nothingness;
Thy last, Thy least;—how have I fed Thy sheep?
What of that charge Thou gavest me to keep?
I bring Thee but my fault, my nothingness;
Thy last, Thy least;—how have I fed Thy sheep?
To-day they watch, and weep, and hunger sore,
Thy poor, Thy secret ones, Thy Saints of Rome.
O my belovèd, O my lambs no more!
To-night my orphans of the Catacomb.
Thy poor, Thy secret ones, Thy Saints of Rome.
O my belovèd, O my lambs no more!
To-night my orphans of the Catacomb.
Yet now I must not overmuch lament,
For it is Thou hast led me all the way;
Surely Thy poor, Thy agèd penitent,
Shall weep the last of bitter tears to-day.
For it is Thou hast led me all the way;
Surely Thy poor, Thy agèd penitent,
Shall weep the last of bitter tears to-day.
Not for to-day that upborne path of power;
I have to pass the slow and shuddering way,
That downward sinks from fainting hour to hour,
The way of slaves and prisoners every day.
I have to pass the slow and shuddering way,
That downward sinks from fainting hour to hour,
The way of slaves and prisoners every day.
Humbly they pass, in dread and in despair,
Knowing not Thee, and black their hopeless past:
Yet the Angel of Thy pity standeth there,
And to Thy bosom beareth them at last.
Knowing not Thee, and black their hopeless past:
Yet the Angel of Thy pity standeth there,
And to Thy bosom beareth them at last.
11
More humbly than Thy lowest in disgrace,
Who have not known Thee, nor have Thee denied,
Unworthy of the malefactors' place,
Hung for a sign to all men at Thy side,
Who have not known Thee, nor have Thee denied,
Unworthy of the malefactors' place,
Hung for a sign to all men at Thy side,
Must I depart, of my own heart reproved;
But oh, my Lord, my Master, pity me!
I have not served Thee yet, I have not loved;
Have I but this day left to give to Thee?
But oh, my Lord, my Master, pity me!
I have not served Thee yet, I have not loved;
Have I but this day left to give to Thee?
Only one day,—and I have not begun
With all my soul and strength to do Thy will;—
Nothing is suffered yet, and nothing done;
Surely I love Thee? yet my heart stands still.
With all my soul and strength to do Thy will;—
Nothing is suffered yet, and nothing done;
Surely I love Thee? yet my heart stands still.
Yet this last day is mine, and best at last;
Though all my past fallen short, or done amiss,
I cannot fail Thee now, nor flee, held fast,
Made like to Thee in dying, saved like this.
Though all my past fallen short, or done amiss,
I cannot fail Thee now, nor flee, held fast,
Made like to Thee in dying, saved like this.
Nay, not like Thee! my thoughts presumptuous ran,
Thou, Virgin-born, most delicate, most fair!
I, Thy old weather-beaten fisherman,
No more Thy anguish than Thy love could share.
Thou, Virgin-born, most delicate, most fair!
I, Thy old weather-beaten fisherman,
No more Thy anguish than Thy love could share.
And yet Thou callest me, callest by name;
Through opening doors I hear Thee calling fast;
I have forgotten all my old sad shame,
I am coming, coming, Lord, to Thee at last!
Through opening doors I hear Thee calling fast;
I have forgotten all my old sad shame,
I am coming, coming, Lord, to Thee at last!
I come, I come! though to the lowest place,
Thou wilt not spurn me from Thy feet adored.
What! Hast Thou come to meet me face to face?
Thou knowest that I love Thee, O my Lord!
Thou wilt not spurn me from Thy feet adored.
What! Hast Thou come to meet me face to face?
Thou knowest that I love Thee, O my Lord!
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