 | Poems and Sonnets |  |
224
A LITANY
FOR THE USE OF THE MEN WHOM THE CHURCHES
HAVE IN THIS AGE CAST OUT.
God, God, what does it all mean,
All this agony of being?
Surely, Thou dost not rejoice
Mankind's misery in seeing?
Send us some sound of a voice,
Send us some avenue of fleeing.
All this agony of being?
Surely, Thou dost not rejoice
Mankind's misery in seeing?
Send us some sound of a voice,
Send us some avenue of fleeing.
If there is Purpose in the pain,
Scourge, till we faint beneath the rod,
Waken us, and scourge us again;
If Thou art our Mother O God,
Not one of us will complain,
Hell we will traverse unshod.
Scourge, till we faint beneath the rod,
Waken us, and scourge us again;
If Thou art our Mother O God,
Not one of us will complain,
Hell we will traverse unshod.
225
Beauty is the thing that we require—
Beautiful if Thou canst make
Us men and women by fire,
Then over us fires rake,
Such is thy children's desire,
They will not blench neither quake.
Beautiful if Thou canst make
Us men and women by fire,
Then over us fires rake,
Such is thy children's desire,
They will not blench neither quake.
Heat we can bear and the pain of it,
Cold of the ice-cold lake,
Are we assured of the gain of it,
Souls in our hands we will take,
If we suspect but the bane of it,
Limbs of us quiver and shake.
Cold of the ice-cold lake,
Are we assured of the gain of it,
Souls in our hands we will take,
If we suspect but the bane of it,
Limbs of us quiver and shake.
One thing Thou lovest and mortals,
Beauty—and Goodness and Truth;
Towards these open Thou the portals,
Spare not, make away with ruth,
So that to us in the end falls
Beauty of Holiness in sooth.
Beauty—and Goodness and Truth;
Towards these open Thou the portals,
Spare not, make away with ruth,
So that to us in the end falls
Beauty of Holiness in sooth.
226
Purposeless pain we outcry at,
He were a Fiend not a God,
He that should issue his fiat
For application of the rod
Only for torture, we sigh at
But love not the might of his nod.
He were a Fiend not a God,
He that should issue his fiat
For application of the rod
Only for torture, we sigh at
But love not the might of his nod.
Nay if He be, we defy Him,
Turning to worship a man,
Some one, the best we can find,
He that is least of us blind,
Strongest, and purest of mind,
With Godhead at once we supply him.
Turning to worship a man,
Some one, the best we can find,
He that is least of us blind,
Strongest, and purest of mind,
With Godhead at once we supply him.
But, if Thou art, O our Lord,
And if Thou lovest us, well—
Lead us through horrors of hell,
World-wide conflagrations to quell,
As sheep follow a bell
We will follow the flame of Thy sword.
And if Thou lovest us, well—
Lead us through horrors of hell,
World-wide conflagrations to quell,
As sheep follow a bell
We will follow the flame of Thy sword.
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