 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
19
PUBLICANS AND SINNERS.
Whom did Christ come down to waken,
Come to give the conqueror's palm,
From their grave-like slumber shaken
Through the shadow into calm?
For whom rang that trumpet calling,
Melting even the hearts of stone,
As between the fallen and falling,
Beautiful He set His throne?
Whom lived He to choose and cherish,
Touch with loving healing hand?
For whom did He plead and perish,
Bear and break the deathly band?
Come to give the conqueror's palm,
From their grave-like slumber shaken
Through the shadow into calm?
For whom rang that trumpet calling,
Melting even the hearts of stone,
As between the fallen and falling,
Beautiful He set His throne?
Whom lived He to choose and cherish,
Touch with loving healing hand?
For whom did He plead and perish,
Bear and break the deathly band?
Did He bid the whole, the healthy,
Fly unto Him to be healed,
With a gospel to the wealthy,
Or the mighty men, revealed?
Did He, in the modern manner,
Which is now His churches' will,
Summon to the blood-red banner,
Rank and titles or the till?
Did He count among His treasures,
Fame and glorious pedigree,
And accept our earthly measures,
Frigid saint and Pharisee?
Fly unto Him to be healed,
With a gospel to the wealthy,
Or the mighty men, revealed?
Did He, in the modern manner,
Which is now His churches' will,
Summon to the blood-red banner,
Rank and titles or the till?
Did He count among His treasures,
Fame and glorious pedigree,
And accept our earthly measures,
Frigid saint and Pharisee?
Not the favoured few, that juggle
With the ignorant as they lust,—
But the men who daily struggle,
Just to earn the daily crust;
Not the ladies finely guerdoned,
Stepping unto ball-room chime—
But the women, over-burdened
With their own and others' crime;
Not the social pets, the winners
Of the prize in worldly race,—
But the publicans and sinners,
Heirs to nothing but disgrace.
With the ignorant as they lust,—
But the men who daily struggle,
Just to earn the daily crust;
Not the ladies finely guerdoned,
Stepping unto ball-room chime—
But the women, over-burdened
With their own and others' crime;
Not the social pets, the winners
Of the prize in worldly race,—
But the publicans and sinners,
Heirs to nothing but disgrace.
These the jewels, Christ our Brother
Stooped to gather from the mire,
Maimed and halt and blind, no other,—
Sunk in order to aspire;
These his darlings, weary, smitten,
Tost about on earthly waves,
Brows on which the brand is written,
Nobodies and sots and slaves;
Yea, to loose the hangman's halter,
Came the Christ who worketh yet,
And could God this gospel alter,
Heaven itself would be to let.
Stooped to gather from the mire,
Maimed and halt and blind, no other,—
Sunk in order to aspire;
These his darlings, weary, smitten,
Tost about on earthly waves,
Brows on which the brand is written,
Nobodies and sots and slaves;
Yea, to loose the hangman's halter,
Came the Christ who worketh yet,
And could God this gospel alter,
Heaven itself would be to let.
20
Not the saints on marble niches.
Who to suffering breasts are blind,—
Not the rich who trust in riches,
Rubbish they must leave behind;
Still the poor man has the blessing,
Who doth choose the better part,
Still the children the caressing,
And the Magdalen Christ's heart;
Still the tired and troubled, laden
With the bondage of the years,
Woman seared in soul a maiden,
Find a Saviour from their fears.
Who to suffering breasts are blind,—
Not the rich who trust in riches,
Rubbish they must leave behind;
Still the poor man has the blessing,
Who doth choose the better part,
Still the children the caressing,
And the Magdalen Christ's heart;
Still the tired and troubled, laden
With the bondage of the years,
Woman seared in soul a maiden,
Find a Saviour from their fears.
Heads that seek no proud position,
Faces marked and marrcd with shame,
Girls of each diverse condition,
Every nature, every name;
Golden Maud and blue-eyed Alice,
Mabel of the fairy form,
Drinking deep the bitter chalice,
Blown about by chance and storm;
Ah! I see them sore afflicted,
Under load that galls and grieves,
Girls by baser man rejected,
Whom the Son of Man receives.
Faces marked and marrcd with shame,
Girls of each diverse condition,
Every nature, every name;
Golden Maud and blue-eyed Alice,
Mabel of the fairy form,
Drinking deep the bitter chalice,
Blown about by chance and storm;
Ah! I see them sore afflicted,
Under load that galls and grieves,
Girls by baser man rejected,
Whom the Son of Man receives.
Hated by their own, and hunted
Into corners dark and drear,
Starved in plenty, crooked and stunted
By the unearned toil and tear;
Still they strive, and look for landing
Somewhere past the surging waves,
Somehow ask a solid standing,
Upon earth that gives but graves;
Though the world scarce deems them human,
Yet for them is mercy won—
If mere scorn from sons of woman—
Mercy from the Woman's Son,
Into corners dark and drear,
Starved in plenty, crooked and stunted
By the unearned toil and tear;
Still they strive, and look for landing
Somewhere past the surging waves,
Somehow ask a solid standing,
Upon earth that gives but graves;
Though the world scarce deems them human,
Yet for them is mercy won—
If mere scorn from sons of woman—
Mercy from the Woman's Son,
Blighted buds, that bear their sentence,
Bow sublimely to the doom,
Show the shoots of grand repentance,
Shall put on immortal bloom;
Dark-haired Ada, red-lipped Charlotte,
Who confess their sins are such,
Even the publican and harlot,
Pardoned greatly, loving much—
These who make the Cross their centre,
Bend to rod and social flout,
Do the Heavenly Kingdom enter,
Which the Pharisee casts out.
Bow sublimely to the doom,
Show the shoots of grand repentance,
Shall put on immortal bloom;
Dark-haired Ada, red-lipped Charlotte,
Who confess their sins are such,
Even the publican and harlot,
Pardoned greatly, loving much—
These who make the Cross their centre,
Bend to rod and social flout,
Do the Heavenly Kingdom enter,
Which the Pharisee casts out.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |