 | Song-bloom |  |
141
VOICES.
Prologue.
CHRIST.
Lo! o'er the wide green waves is thy sun setting,
Thy sun that flamed throughout the centuries long
With rays so vehement of point and strong?
Will it be lost to sight beyond regretting
In the green waves that surge around it, fretting
Its red fierce disc with floods of mocking song?
Do new sweet moons and stars the blue night throng?
Will there be suns for homage and forgetting?
Thy sun that flamed throughout the centuries long
With rays so vehement of point and strong?
Will it be lost to sight beyond regretting
In the green waves that surge around it, fretting
Its red fierce disc with floods of mocking song?
Do new sweet moons and stars the blue night throng?
Will there be suns for homage and forgetting?
We loved Christ's rose of blood till, tenderer far,
The rose of Beauty flamed, a silver star,
Flower-sweet, flower-tranquil, o'er the lessening foam:
Then saw we in the depths within her eyes
The end of our eternity of sighs,
Peace and a haven of hope, a painless home.
The rose of Beauty flamed, a silver star,
Flower-sweet, flower-tranquil, o'er the lessening foam:
Then saw we in the depths within her eyes
The end of our eternity of sighs,
Peace and a haven of hope, a painless home.
148
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
Hearken: the Christ-king stands
With tender and outstretched hands;
He bringeth a law to the lands,
Glad tidings to every shore.
Hearken: the Christ-king stands
With tender and outstretched hands;
He bringeth a law to the lands,
Glad tidings to every shore.
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
Flag of the Christ-king, rise
Blood-red in the blue clear skies:
Lead us, through sorrow and sighs,
Through tears and pangs of the war.
Flag of the Christ-king, rise
Blood-red in the blue clear skies:
Lead us, through sorrow and sighs,
Through tears and pangs of the war.
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
Bend we before our King
And banners of greeting bring;
With swift sure ecstasy sing,
With down-bent homage adore.
Bend we before our King
And banners of greeting bring;
With swift sure ecstasy sing,
With down-bent homage adore.
149
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
Hearken: our Lady is fair
As a rose in the morning air,
Sent from on high to prepare
Sweet tidings for every shore.
Hearken: our Lady is fair
As a rose in the morning air,
Sent from on high to prepare
Sweet tidings for every shore.
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
Beauty of Venus our queen
In front of us flame and be seen;
Lo! whiter than water the sheen
Of her body, our token of war.
Beauty of Venus our queen
In front of us flame and be seen;
Lo! whiter than water the sheen
Of her body, our token of war.
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
Wonderful Goddess, thee
Sprung white from the foam of the sea,
On gladsome and bended knee
We worship and hymn and adore.
Wonderful Goddess, thee
Sprung white from the foam of the sea,
On gladsome and bended knee
We worship and hymn and adore.
150
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
Heal us, O Christ; our sighs
To the innermost cloudland rise:
Wipe thou the tears from our eyes,
From eyes that are weary and sore.
Heal us, O Christ; our sighs
To the innermost cloudland rise:
Wipe thou the tears from our eyes,
From eyes that are weary and sore.
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
Never was heart so pure
As thine, Christ; thou shalt endure
For ever: thy throne is sure,
Yea, firmer than any before.
Never was heart so pure
As thine, Christ; thou shalt endure
For ever: thy throne is sure,
Yea, firmer than any before.
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
Bountiful Christ! oh stand
With sword and sceptre in hand:
Thou art prince, thou art king to command,
Thou art God's own Son from of yore.
Bountiful Christ! oh stand
With sword and sceptre in hand:
Thou art prince, thou art king to command,
Thou art God's own Son from of yore.
151
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
Wipe thou our weeping with hair
Outpoured, sweet, smelling of air
Of tenderest June-night, rare
Sweet bounty for souls that are sore.
Wipe thou our weeping with hair
Outpoured, sweet, smelling of air
Of tenderest June-night, rare
Sweet bounty for souls that are sore.
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
Never were roses as white,
O Goddess, as thy breast bright:
Tender as moon in the night
It gleams thy people before.
Never were roses as white,
O Goddess, as thy breast bright:
Tender as moon in the night
It gleams thy people before.
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
Beautiful rose-sweet maid,
'Neath the olives, in glimmering shade,
Thou standest, nude, unafraid,
A snow-white queen from of yore.
Beautiful rose-sweet maid,
'Neath the olives, in glimmering shade,
Thou standest, nude, unafraid,
A snow-white queen from of yore.
152
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
Bend upon us thy face,
Thy bounty, thy beauty, thy grace,—
Be our goal in the wearisome race,—
The balm of thy spirit outpour.
Bend upon us thy face,
Thy bounty, thy beauty, thy grace,—
Be our goal in the wearisome race,—
The balm of thy spirit outpour.
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
By thy groans upon Calvary's tree,
Blood-drops like tides of a sea,
Redeem thou the world unto thee;
By the oath thy Father swore.
By thy groans upon Calvary's tree,
Blood-drops like tides of a sea,
Redeem thou the world unto thee;
By the oath thy Father swore.
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
To the farthest bounds of the land
Far stretches his strong right hand;
As a lion o'er leagues of sand
He paces, and loud is his roar.
To the farthest bounds of the land
Far stretches his strong right hand;
As a lion o'er leagues of sand
He paces, and loud is his roar.
153
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
Sweet, with the balm of thy breath
Deliver from shadow of death;
O'er mountain, valley, and heath,
Thy blessing and help outpour.
Sweet, with the balm of thy breath
Deliver from shadow of death;
O'er mountain, valley, and heath,
Thy blessing and help outpour.
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
By thine own dear calm white hands,
Calm love, deliver the lands
From shackles and perilous bands;
Christ never thy sweet oath swore.
By thine own dear calm white hands,
Calm love, deliver the lands
From shackles and perilous bands;
Christ never thy sweet oath swore.
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
To the furthest limits of sight
Soft reaches our love's hand white;
Little she cares for the might
Of Jesus, his lion-like roar.
To the furthest limits of sight
Soft reaches our love's hand white;
Little she cares for the might
Of Jesus, his lion-like roar.
154
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
All the heavens of gold
In his sure grasp Christ doth hold;
He stands, keen, stalwart and bold,
Alert at the heavenly door.
All the heavens of gold
In his sure grasp Christ doth hold;
He stands, keen, stalwart and bold,
Alert at the heavenly door.
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
Help us, O Christ, to rise
To the loftiest untouched skies:
Hear thou our groans and sighs;
Aid us to heaven to soar.
Help us, O Christ, to rise
To the loftiest untouched skies:
Hear thou our groans and sighs;
Aid us to heaven to soar.
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
He walked on the waves of the lake
Which a glistering floor did make:
Not a ripple had force to shake
His foot till his march was o'er.
He walked on the waves of the lake
Which a glistering floor did make:
Not a ripple had force to shake
His foot till his march was o'er.
155
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
All the heavens of blue
Her clear gaze glimmereth through;
Her soft tears fall in the dew;
She guardeth the high morn's door.
All the heavens of blue
Her clear gaze glimmereth through;
Her soft tears fall in the dew;
She guardeth the high morn's door.
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
The sweet and the tender seas
And the loving and gentle breeze
Are thine, O Venus; with these
For wings thy soul doth soar.
The sweet and the tender seas
And the loving and gentle breeze
Are thine, O Venus; with these
For wings thy soul doth soar.
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
And Love in the blue seas shines
As they wander in sparkling lines;
Never her grace declines,
Never her sceptre is o'er.
And Love in the blue seas shines
As they wander in sparkling lines;
Never her grace declines,
Never her sceptre is o'er.
156
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
Surely where thou dost stand
Are flowers and songs of the land;
Summer at thy right hand
Shines on the green earth-floor.
Surely where thou dost stand
Are flowers and songs of the land;
Summer at thy right hand
Shines on the green earth-floor.
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
What was the raiment thou
Didst wear, Christ? crucified how
Was thy body and pierced thy brow!
Thy shoulders a red robe wore!
What was the raiment thou
Didst wear, Christ? crucified how
Was thy body and pierced thy brow!
Thy shoulders a red robe wore!
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
Sweet are thy lips and face,—
Fulfillèd of fair pure grace;
On the steps of thy shrine we place
Rich fruits ripe to the core.
Sweet are thy lips and face,—
Fulfillèd of fair pure grace;
On the steps of thy shrine we place
Rich fruits ripe to the core.
157
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
Surely within thy breast
All buds of summer time rest
As in soft and scented nest;
Thou clothest the sweet earth-floor.
Surely within thy breast
All buds of summer time rest
As in soft and scented nest;
Thou clothest the sweet earth-floor.
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
White is thy body, O Queen;
Its tender adorable sheen
O'er the moonlit waves is seen:
Thy shoulders their loveliness wore!
White is thy body, O Queen;
Its tender adorable sheen
O'er the moonlit waves is seen:
Thy shoulders their loveliness wore!
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
And we bring roses and fair
Wreaths tenderly wrought prepare:
Berries in thy black hair
We twist, red-ripe to the core.
And we bring roses and fair
Wreaths tenderly wrought prepare:
Berries in thy black hair
We twist, red-ripe to the core.
158
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
Gifts in thine heaven, O King,
Thou hast for the hearts who sing
At thine altar, and round thee cling;
Gifts from thine heavenly store.
Gifts in thine heaven, O King,
Thou hast for the hearts who sing
At thine altar, and round thee cling;
Gifts from thine heavenly store.
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
Flies as a flag to the front
Christ's war-plume; there in the brunt
Of the battle he foes doth hunt,—
Yet the people his prowess ignore.
Flies as a flag to the front
Christ's war-plume; there in the brunt
Of the battle he foes doth hunt,—
Yet the people his prowess ignore.
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
Never shall frost again
Defile the grass of the plain;
Never shall fierce snows stain
The wide fields frozen and hoar.
Never shall frost again
Defile the grass of the plain;
Never shall fierce snows stain
The wide fields frozen and hoar.
159
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
Thou art the only flower
We care for now in thy bower:
Thine own scent, sweet one, shower
Upon us, its fragrant store.
Thou art the only flower
We care for now in thy bower:
Thine own scent, sweet one, shower
Upon us, its fragrant store.
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
On the sweet wind exquisite sighs
From our musical love-land rise;
Beauty a bird in the skies
Sings,—yet her song they ignore.
On the sweet wind exquisite sighs
From our musical love-land rise;
Beauty a bird in the skies
Sings,—yet her song they ignore.
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
Now the roses blow
For the waste wide miles of snow;
Singing is with us for woe;
Grass for the dead plains hoar.
Now the roses blow
For the waste wide miles of snow;
Singing is with us for woe;
Grass for the dead plains hoar.
160
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
Four Evangelists came,
Robed in raiment of flame,
Eager with passionate aim,
Christ's stern warriors four.
Four Evangelists came,
Robed in raiment of flame,
Eager with passionate aim,
Christ's stern warriors four.
Christ being raised, dieth no more!
Christ the whole earth planned:
It leaped new-born from his hand;
His Spirit the waste void fanned
With its breath, and swift life bore.
Christ the whole earth planned:
It leaped new-born from his hand;
His Spirit the waste void fanned
With its breath, and swift life bore.
161
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
Beauty's messengers fair
Are fire and ocean and air,
And the green earth clothed in rare
Flower-raiment: ministers four.
Beauty's messengers fair
Are fire and ocean and air,
And the green earth clothed in rare
Flower-raiment: ministers four.
Christ being dead, liveth no more!
Beauty the whole earth made;
The sunlit lands and the shade;
Mountain and valley and glade;
Life as a babe She bore.
Beauty the whole earth made;
The sunlit lands and the shade;
Mountain and valley and glade;
Life as a babe She bore.
162
Epilogue.
BEAUTY.
Yea, thou art whiter than the Christ, O tender
Venus who risest from the waves of time
With the old form beyond all words sublime;
As forest air when the night-mists surrender
And flowers are touched by sun, O stainless splendour
Thy breath is sweet: thou dwellest in a clime
Of love and lyric harmony and rhyme,
Far from the foot of slow-eyed foul offender.
Venus who risest from the waves of time
With the old form beyond all words sublime;
As forest air when the night-mists surrender
And flowers are touched by sun, O stainless splendour
Thy breath is sweet: thou dwellest in a clime
Of love and lyric harmony and rhyme,
Far from the foot of slow-eyed foul offender.
Take thou the future; in thy passionate kiss
Is all we need of earthly, heavenly bliss:
O body of beauty, all thy wealth bestow!
Like freshest smell of ferns in fragrant lanes
Is the dear scent that trembles o'er thy veins,
And sweeter is thy mouth than man can know.
Is all we need of earthly, heavenly bliss:
O body of beauty, all thy wealth bestow!
Like freshest smell of ferns in fragrant lanes
Is the dear scent that trembles o'er thy veins,
And sweeter is thy mouth than man can know.
| Song-bloom | |