 | Carmina crucis |  |
53
QUIS SEPARABIT?
I am no warrior. Lo,
What skill have hands like mine the sword to wield?
A singer of old songs, I wander slow
By many a haunted stream, by many a field;
Where, stooping down, I yet can hear the low
Hoarse battle murmur ring from lance and shield.
Amid thick woods I stray, where long ago
Fond lovers met; and oft a darker thrill
Steals from some spot whereon no grasses grow,
No kind rains fall, no breezes lightly blow.
Enough of love, enough of grief, I know,
Enough of crime! Earth's story chains me still.
What marvel, then, that me a cruel foe
Should track from grove to stream with stealthy skill?
What marvel, then, that on the waters' flow
Strange sounds should rise to me instinct with ill?
Strange aspects gleam from out the wood, and low
And mocking voices reach me from the hill?
I was not strong to fight, nor swift to fly,
Oh! let me reach the mountain or I die!
But as I cross'd a level plain the air
Grew still as death; the singing lark dropp'd mute
Beside the daisy wither'd to its root.
Then came an ice-cold wind, and suddenly
The storm brake forth; then saw I lifted high
The Cross stand bare between the darken'd sky
And pallid earth; as close as can despair
I clasp'd my arms about it.
What skill have hands like mine the sword to wield?
A singer of old songs, I wander slow
By many a haunted stream, by many a field;
Where, stooping down, I yet can hear the low
Hoarse battle murmur ring from lance and shield.
Amid thick woods I stray, where long ago
Fond lovers met; and oft a darker thrill
Steals from some spot whereon no grasses grow,
No kind rains fall, no breezes lightly blow.
Enough of love, enough of grief, I know,
Enough of crime! Earth's story chains me still.
What marvel, then, that me a cruel foe
Should track from grove to stream with stealthy skill?
54
Strange sounds should rise to me instinct with ill?
Strange aspects gleam from out the wood, and low
And mocking voices reach me from the hill?
I was not strong to fight, nor swift to fly,
Oh! let me reach the mountain or I die!
But as I cross'd a level plain the air
Grew still as death; the singing lark dropp'd mute
Beside the daisy wither'd to its root.
Then came an ice-cold wind, and suddenly
The storm brake forth; then saw I lifted high
The Cross stand bare between the darken'd sky
And pallid earth; as close as can despair
I clasp'd my arms about it.
Here I die.
I know these slinging shafts, these darts of fire,
That mingle with the arrowy sleet and hail.
Here hast thou found me, oh, mine enemy!
And yet rejoice not thou, by strength shall none prevail.
I know these slinging shafts, these darts of fire,
That mingle with the arrowy sleet and hail.
Here hast thou found me, oh, mine enemy!
And yet rejoice not thou, by strength shall none prevail.
By noon thine arrows fly;
None faileth of its mark; thou dost not tire;
And yet rejoice not thou! Each shaft of fire
That finds me here becomes a living nail.
What strength of thine, what skill can now avail
To tear me from the Cross? My soul and heart
Are fasten'd here! I feel the cloven dart
Pierce keenly through. What hands have power to wring
Me hence? What voice can now so sweetly sing
To lure my spirit from its rest? Oh! now
Rejoice, my soul, for thou
Hast trodden down thy foeman's strength through pain.
55
And yet rejoice not thou! Each shaft of fire
That finds me here becomes a living nail.
What strength of thine, what skill can now avail
To tear me from the Cross? My soul and heart
Are fasten'd here! I feel the cloven dart
Pierce keenly through. What hands have power to wring
Me hence? What voice can now so sweetly sing
To lure my spirit from its rest? Oh! now
Rejoice, my soul, for thou
Hast trodden down thy foeman's strength through pain.
Who speaketh now of peace?
Who seeketh for release?
The Cross is strength, the solemn Cross is gain,
The Cross is Jesu's breast,
Here giveth He the rest
That to His best belov'd doth still remain.
Who seeketh for release?
The Cross is strength, the solemn Cross is gain,
The Cross is Jesu's breast,
Here giveth He the rest
That to His best belov'd doth still remain.
How sweet an ended strife!
How sweet a dawning life!
Here will I lie as one that draws his breath
With ease, and hearken what my Saviour saith
Concerning me; the solemn Cross is gain;
Who willeth now to choose?
Who strives to bind or loose?
Sweet life, sweet death, sweet triumph and sweet pain.
How sweet a dawning life!
56
With ease, and hearken what my Saviour saith
Concerning me; the solemn Cross is gain;
Who willeth now to choose?
Who strives to bind or loose?
Sweet life, sweet death, sweet triumph and sweet pain.
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