 | Carmina crucis |  |
57
THE CROSS.
What
came ye forth to see?
The desert paths are drear;
The desert air is still,
What came ye forth to hear?
A whisper 'mid the reeds,
Or voice of one that pleads,
Persuading soft, or prophet's voice austere?”
The desert paths are drear;
The desert air is still,
What came ye forth to hear?
A whisper 'mid the reeds,
Or voice of one that pleads,
Persuading soft, or prophet's voice austere?”
“I came not forth to look
For prophet or for seer,
For word from lip or book
I wait not, waiting here;
Where neither speech nor voice
Is heard, my spirit's choice
Abides, for unto me
The Lord hath show'd a Tree.”
For prophet or for seer,
For word from lip or book
I wait not, waiting here;
Where neither speech nor voice
Is heard, my spirit's choice
Abides, for unto me
The Lord hath show'd a Tree.”
58
“What wouldst thou with this tree,
Bare, leafless, gaunt? On thee
It drops no tendril now,
It stretches forth no bough.
Behold the woods, the summer woods are fair;
On Lebanon the oak
Stands with its heart unbroke
In giant strength; what green leaves tremble there!
The very gourd that springs
And dies within a day,
Will spread its fan-like wings
To shade thee while it may;
The rose is sweet ere yet it pass away,
The lily blooms and fades in still decay.
Bare, leafless, gaunt? On thee
It drops no tendril now,
It stretches forth no bough.
Behold the woods, the summer woods are fair;
On Lebanon the oak
Stands with its heart unbroke
In giant strength; what green leaves tremble there!
The very gourd that springs
And dies within a day,
Will spread its fan-like wings
To shade thee while it may;
The rose is sweet ere yet it pass away,
The lily blooms and fades in still decay.
“Thou lovest well the slow
Sweet lapse of running waters o'er the stone,
The song of birds at early morn, the low
Light, ruffling winds; what findst thou here? a moan;
What hearest thou? a sigh
Half utter'd, 'twixt the sky
And earth, from age to age that seems to die.
Sweet lapse of running waters o'er the stone,
The song of birds at early morn, the low
Light, ruffling winds; what findst thou here? a moan;
What hearest thou? a sigh
Half utter'd, 'twixt the sky
And earth, from age to age that seems to die.
“No bird upon this tree
Will sit and sing to thee;
No flower will spring beneath; all hurry by
That pass this place; the vine
No cluster yields, for wine
None ask, and here the merry-hearted sigh.”
Will sit and sing to thee;
59
That pass this place; the vine
No cluster yields, for wine
None ask, and here the merry-hearted sigh.”
“Yet hence I will not stir;
What healing gums distil
From out this tree! Of myrrh
The mount is this, of frankincense the hill,
And all around are fair
Broad meads, with shepherds there
That feed and guard their flocks contented still.
What healing gums distil
From out this tree! Of myrrh
The mount is this, of frankincense the hill,
And all around are fair
Broad meads, with shepherds there
That feed and guard their flocks contented still.
“By Sinai long I stay'd,
And heard a voice that spake to me, ‘This do,
And thou shalt live;’ but when more close I drew,
I saw with hidden fire the mountain shake;
Upon the air I heard the trumpet break
Long, loud and louder yet; what hope had I
When even Moses said, ‘I fear and quake—
Let not God speak unto me, lest I die!’
And heard a voice that spake to me, ‘This do,
And thou shalt live;’ but when more close I drew,
I saw with hidden fire the mountain shake;
Upon the air I heard the trumpet break
Long, loud and louder yet; what hope had I
When even Moses said, ‘I fear and quake—
Let not God speak unto me, lest I die!’
60
“To Tabor then I came.
How fair, methought, how pleasant is this place,
How green and still! Then, Jesus, on Thy face
I look'd, and it was comely; full of grace
And truth Thy lips as one whom God hath blest.
Here then, methought, for ever I will rest,
Here will I build my shrine, and pay my vows;
But while in sweet content
To pluck fresh boughs I went,
Peter and James and John,
Yea, Jesus too, had gone,
And I was left amid the wither'd boughs.
How fair, methought, how pleasant is this place,
How green and still! Then, Jesus, on Thy face
I look'd, and it was comely; full of grace
And truth Thy lips as one whom God hath blest.
Here then, methought, for ever I will rest,
Here will I build my shrine, and pay my vows;
But while in sweet content
To pluck fresh boughs I went,
Peter and James and John,
Yea, Jesus too, had gone,
And I was left amid the wither'd boughs.
“At length another place
I reach'd at noon; the trodden ground was bare;
Of a great multitude I saw the trace,
But all was silent now; no marvel there
My eyes beheld, no law
I heard, no vision saw,
Save Jesus only, Him, the Crucified.
I saw my Lord that look'd on me and died.
I reach'd at noon; the trodden ground was bare;
Of a great multitude I saw the trace,
But all was silent now; no marvel there
My eyes beheld, no law
I heard, no vision saw,
Save Jesus only, Him, the Crucified.
I saw my Lord that look'd on me and died.
“Here will I see the day
Pass by, the shadows creep
Around me; here I pray,
And here I sing and weep;
Here only will I sleep
And wake again; I keep
My watch beneath this tree
The Lord hath show'd to me.”
Pass by, the shadows creep
61
And here I sing and weep;
Here only will I sleep
And wake again; I keep
My watch beneath this tree
The Lord hath show'd to me.”
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