 | Carmina crucis |  |
66
SUMMA THEOLOGIÆ.
“In the cross of Christ excess in man is met by excess in
God; excess of evil is mastered by excess of love.”
Bourdaloue.
Now let me turn aside,
And look on this great Sign, uplifted high,
Where a broad river runs down silently
Until it reach the white and misty shore,
Margin to unknown worlds, where evermore
The deep sea moans and is not satisfied,
And life meets death in marshes wild and wide.
And look on this great Sign, uplifted high,
Where a broad river runs down silently
Until it reach the white and misty shore,
Margin to unknown worlds, where evermore
The deep sea moans and is not satisfied,
And life meets death in marshes wild and wide.
Above the meads in May,
Above the summer gardens of delight,
Above the gloomy forests where by night
The fierce beasts roam, and ask of God their prey;
Above the crowded city wild with sin,
Above the pleasant home by love shut in,
O'er all that blessed, blesses—all that curst
—Accurses! mute above our best and worst,
I see it rise, a strange, appealing sign.
Above the summer gardens of delight,
Above the gloomy forests where by night
The fierce beasts roam, and ask of God their prey;
Above the crowded city wild with sin,
Above the pleasant home by love shut in,
67
—Accurses! mute above our best and worst,
I see it rise, a strange, appealing sign.
Its shadow falls upon a region old
And wasted by the spoiler; thick with graves,
And pierced with sunless caverns, where, for gold,
Slaves toil unceasing, bound by stronger slaves.
A land of mighty hunters; he who flies
The arrow, lights upon the deadly snare,—
The lash and lure are theirs, behind them lies
A desert that was once a garden fair,
And after them a fire breaks forth that feeds
On the broad cedars, on the quivering reeds,
Fann'd by swift winds that sway its flickering spire;
Yet would man snatch and win life's goodly prize,
Yet would he venture, conquer, and aspire,—
Now will I look upon my God that dies.
And wasted by the spoiler; thick with graves,
And pierced with sunless caverns, where, for gold,
Slaves toil unceasing, bound by stronger slaves.
A land of mighty hunters; he who flies
The arrow, lights upon the deadly snare,—
The lash and lure are theirs, behind them lies
A desert that was once a garden fair,
And after them a fire breaks forth that feeds
On the broad cedars, on the quivering reeds,
Fann'd by swift winds that sway its flickering spire;
Yet would man snatch and win life's goodly prize,
Yet would he venture, conquer, and aspire,—
Now will I look upon my God that dies.
Enough of man's excess!
His waste and wassail trampling out his wine,
With hasty heel, from youth, joy, tenderness,
Now will I turn, my God, and look on thine
Profuse wert Thou Thy prodigal to bless,
Nor hast Thou spared from out the purple vine
A rich, full-mingled cup, to strain, and press,
And meet his loss with usury divine.
His waste and wassail trampling out his wine,
With hasty heel, from youth, joy, tenderness,
Now will I turn, my God, and look on thine
68
Nor hast Thou spared from out the purple vine
A rich, full-mingled cup, to strain, and press,
And meet his loss with usury divine.
Now let me turn my gaze
On Love's best archer, sorely bitten, thrown
Aside by all his comrades, through amaze
And anguish of his wound, to die alone;
Yet he, sore-smitten archer, may not die!
Forsaken, shunned, abhorred and desolate,
Yet shall his arrows win back victory,
His bow arrest a doubtful combat's fate,
And he shall conquer surely, conquering late.
On Love's best archer, sorely bitten, thrown
Aside by all his comrades, through amaze
And anguish of his wound, to die alone;
Yet he, sore-smitten archer, may not die!
Forsaken, shunned, abhorred and desolate,
Yet shall his arrows win back victory,
His bow arrest a doubtful combat's fate,
And he shall conquer surely, conquering late.
He saith to us, “Awhile,
A little while and ye shall see me.” Lo!
On this our earth quick bitter harvests grow;
So must Love's patience slowly reconcile,
Pain, pleasure, death, together banded, mow,
And reap, nor care to gather in their sheaves,—
It is my God alone who waits and grieves;
Slow is his agony, his guerdon slow.
A little while and ye shall see me.” Lo!
On this our earth quick bitter harvests grow;
So must Love's patience slowly reconcile,
Pain, pleasure, death, together banded, mow,
And reap, nor care to gather in their sheaves,—
It is my God alone who waits and grieves;
Slow is his agony, his guerdon slow.
69
Yet for no other sign
I ask; I read within no other book,
When I within my God's deep heart would look
I turn not to his earth nor heavens that shine
And burn from age to age, yet speak no word:
Let my God speak to me! for I have heard
Strange voices on the earth, strange marvels seen;
While the blue, silent heavens look'd on serene,
And the white moon-beam brought its message clear,
Man's goodly frame was in the market sold
By men, and woman's smile made cheap for gold,
—Yet Thou, oh God! didst buy the soul more dear!
I ask; I read within no other book,
When I within my God's deep heart would look
I turn not to his earth nor heavens that shine
And burn from age to age, yet speak no word:
Let my God speak to me! for I have heard
Strange voices on the earth, strange marvels seen;
While the blue, silent heavens look'd on serene,
And the white moon-beam brought its message clear,
Man's goodly frame was in the market sold
By men, and woman's smile made cheap for gold,
—Yet Thou, oh God! didst buy the soul more dear!
So let the earth be old,
And, like a wicked Fate, from off her reel
Spin evil changes,—let the skies in cold
Clear splendour arch us in a vault of steel;
The heavens are far away, yet God is near;
I find a need divine
That meeteth need of mine;
No rigid fate I meet, no law austere;
I see my God who turns,
And o'er his creature yearns,—
Upon the cross God gives, and claims the tear.
And, like a wicked Fate, from off her reel
Spin evil changes,—let the skies in cold
Clear splendour arch us in a vault of steel;
The heavens are far away, yet God is near;
I find a need divine
That meeteth need of mine;
No rigid fate I meet, no law austere;
70
And o'er his creature yearns,—
Upon the cross God gives, and claims the tear.
And from this soul His love,
The slighted human soul that men despise,
Shall yet work out a wondrous work, above
All wonders of His earth and seas and skies;
Love, love that once for all did agonize,
Shall conquer all things to itself! if late
Or soon this fall, I ask not nor surmise,—
And when my God is waiting I can wait!
The slighted human soul that men despise,
Shall yet work out a wondrous work, above
All wonders of His earth and seas and skies;
Love, love that once for all did agonize,
Shall conquer all things to itself! if late
Or soon this fall, I ask not nor surmise,—
And when my God is waiting I can wait!
Christus crucifixus,
Dei potentia ac Dei sapientia!
Dei potentia ac Dei sapientia!
| Carmina crucis | |