 | Songs of Religion and Life |  |
192
A Song of St. Socrates.
I.
To Socrates, seated in bliss with St. Paul,A club of good fellows sent up a petition,
That they by his name might their brotherhood call,
When this answer came down from the jolly old Grecian—
Men north of the Tweed,
I wish you God-speed,
You may borrow my name, if you hold by my creed;
And this creed hath been mine,
In bright union to join
Religion and beauty, wit, wisdom, and wine!
193
II.
I have heard in the skies that you brave Scottish menFor freedom of faith nobly spread out your banners;
This thing I approve; but I shake my head when
They say you are sour and severe in your manners!
Though the thorn with the rose
You must take as it grows,
No thorn without roses brings joy to the nose,
And they only are wise who can cunningly join
Religion and beauty, wit, wisdom, and wine!
III.
'Twas yesterday only, myself and St. Paul,When vespers were over, sat sipping our nectar,
There came up from earth to the heavenly hall
A lean-visaged fellow, as pale as a spectre;
A cross on his breast,
And a rope round his vest,
And a skull in his hand very plainly confessed
194
With piety pleasure, and wisdom with wine!
IV.
Such fellows I hate: so I said, in this placeAll cherubs are rosy, no seraph is yellow;
We don't measure worth by the length of the face,
So sit down with Paul and with me, and be mellow!
With hollow surprise
He broadened his eyes,
And held up his hand for a sign to the skies,
Showing plainly he knew not the cunning to join
Religion with reason, and wisdom with wine.
V.
To this self-tormentor what after befell,Who looked like a lemon, when nectar was flowing,
If he went back to earth, or was trapped into hell,
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Myself and St. Paul,
When on earth's cloudy ball,
Were never found lagging when duty did call;
We stood for our faith, where our life was the fine,
But we never looked sour on a glass of good wine!
VI.
And now my discourse you have heard to the end,My name you may use, and you know the condition,
If wisely you temper and skilfully blend
The hard-headed Scot with the quick-witted Grecian;
Myself and St. Paul,
From the bright azure hall,
Will bring your petitions and wait on your call,
And teach you to mingle in harmony fine
A song with a sermon, and wisdom with wine.
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