 | The poems of Robert Traill Spence Lowell |  |
94
THE BISHOP BOUND.
[After a missionary bishop had been sent out to Jerusalem, by the English Church, a great storm was raised in England, because he suffered some members of the superstitious and decrepid Eastern Church, in the midst of which he stood, to learn the Gospel of him.]
“Necessity is laid upon me.”
Ye tell me that I must not preach
The Gospel to these men,
And if it struggles up to speech,
Must choke it down—and then?—
The Gospel to these men,
And if it struggles up to speech,
Must choke it down—and then?—
I may stand here, with dimming eyes,
And watch the world abroad;
For what?—Lest they, in any wise,
Should catch the truth of God.
And watch the world abroad;
For what?—Lest they, in any wise,
Should catch the truth of God.
They have “Most Holy Lords” to reign
Where poor Apostles wrought:
Shall “Right Divine” God's work restrain
And bring His Faith to nought?
Where poor Apostles wrought:
Shall “Right Divine” God's work restrain
And bring His Faith to nought?
95
Can tapers, robes, and painted saints,
And chant of old-time words
Save, more than flowers that sunlight paints,
Or out-door song of birds?
And chant of old-time words
Save, more than flowers that sunlight paints,
Or out-door song of birds?
If living faith in God's own Son
Alone true life can give,
Shall I undo what God has done,
Nor bid these dead men live?
Alone true life can give,
Shall I undo what God has done,
Nor bid these dead men live?
The winds are His, as well as I,
And, as their quick feet flit,
They will not let the message die
But men shall hear of it.
And, as their quick feet flit,
They will not let the message die
But men shall hear of it.
Could ye stand by me in my need,
When the last Judge is set,
And all is done, of human deed,
But not accounted, yet?
When the last Judge is set,
And all is done, of human deed,
But not accounted, yet?
Oh, no! this breath I breathe, of air,
And shape in words, to-day,
Must preach His Gospel everywhere,
Or woe is mine for aye.
And shape in words, to-day,
Must preach His Gospel everywhere,
Or woe is mine for aye.
January 15, 1854.
| The poems of Robert Traill Spence Lowell | |