 | Poems: Second Series |  |
118
JOY AND SORROW:
OR THE GODS DETHRONED.
They lie at thy feet, oh Christ! Thou hast trodden them into the clay:
The spear that Athena bore is broken and red with rust:
And Phœbus and Aprodite, the beautiful—where are they?
They are fallen, oh Christ! and shattered—they kiss Thy feet in the dust.
The spear that Athena bore is broken and red with rust:
And Phœbus and Aprodite, the beautiful—where are they?
They are fallen, oh Christ! and shattered—they kiss Thy feet in the dust.
They are fallen—heroic Wisdom and high ideal Art—
And Beauty that laughed and lured us—what is she? cinders and ashes:
Oh man! with the soul divine: Oh God! with the human heart:
Oh eyes of sorrowing love are these your lightning flashes?
And Beauty that laughed and lured us—what is she? cinders and ashes:
Oh man! with the soul divine: Oh God! with the human heart:
Oh eyes of sorrowing love are these your lightning flashes?
119
Ye looked on the Gods of Hellas, and they were as dreams forgotten:
The glory of all their shrines was dust at the touch of God:
As a fruit, that is fair without, drops down when the core is rotten,
Drops down at a breath of wind and moulders into the sod.
The glory of all their shrines was dust at the touch of God:
As a fruit, that is fair without, drops down when the core is rotten,
Drops down at a breath of wind and moulders into the sod.
The joy of our hearts begot them—they waned to a dreary end:
Were they vile in Thine eyes, oh Christ! in this that we held them fair?
But thou knewest the heart's desires: men called Thee the sinner's friend:
And a harlot bathed Thy feet in the waves of her rippling hair.
Were they vile in Thine eyes, oh Christ! in this that we held them fair?
But thou knewest the heart's desires: men called Thee the sinner's friend:
And a harlot bathed Thy feet in the waves of her rippling hair.
Ah no! from within they perished: they were born with the germs of death:
They grew with a growing cancer: they ripened into decay:
They waited a touch of frost: they waited a wintry breath:
And the shrines of our hearts were bare before the dawn of Thy day.
They grew with a growing cancer: they ripened into decay:
They waited a touch of frost: they waited a wintry breath:
And the shrines of our hearts were bare before the dawn of Thy day.
120
For the plant of joy must wither unblest by the rain of tears,
When the lips of the sun have drained its chalice of sparkling dew:
Ah! well that we worshipped these in the joy of our early years—
Ah! well that we laughed for gladness when skies were bright and blue.
When the lips of the sun have drained its chalice of sparkling dew:
Ah! well that we worshipped these in the joy of our early years—
Ah! well that we laughed for gladness when skies were bright and blue.
Tears came and a cloud of care: we turned to our gods in vain:
They had listened, alas! too long to the voice of music and mirth:
They knew not the ways of sorrow: they knew not the paths of pain—
And they were dethroned and fallen, and the light had left the earth.
They had listened, alas! too long to the voice of music and mirth:
They knew not the ways of sorrow: they knew not the paths of pain—
And they were dethroned and fallen, and the light had left the earth.
For tears are as precious pearls, the pride of a kingly line—
The gleam of the far-off grandeur of the goal we are born to win:
For the light of our life is darkened by the dawn of a light divine:
And had we not dreamed of Heaven, we never had wept for sin.
The gleam of the far-off grandeur of the goal we are born to win:
For the light of our life is darkened by the dawn of a light divine:
And had we not dreamed of Heaven, we never had wept for sin.
121
Tears come, and another world awakes to their magic wand:
They veil our eyes with a film, and blind them and make them see:
And they rise when love has grown to thirst for a love beyond:
And they doom “what is” to wither at the dream of what ought to be.
They veil our eyes with a film, and blind them and make them see:
And they rise when love has grown to thirst for a love beyond:
And they doom “what is” to wither at the dream of what ought to be.
Tears came and a cloud of care, and the light of the morning died:
Thou camest incarnate Love! and Thine was a bleeding brow:
There were wounds in Thine hands and feet, and wounds in Thy stricken side:
Thy sweat was a sweat of blood, and the drops are trickling now.
Thou camest incarnate Love! and Thine was a bleeding brow:
There were wounds in Thine hands and feet, and wounds in Thy stricken side:
Thy sweat was a sweat of blood, and the drops are trickling now.
We looked on the waste of briars that Thou hadst trampled down:
We looked on the crimson stains that told where Thy feet had trod:
We looked on the wreath of thorns and hailed it a monarch's crown,
We looked on Thine eyes of sorrow, and knew they were eyes of God.
We looked on the crimson stains that told where Thy feet had trod:
We looked on the wreath of thorns and hailed it a monarch's crown,
We looked on Thine eyes of sorrow, and knew they were eyes of God.
| Poems: Second Series | |