 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
THE FEAST OF SCIENCE.
It is God's own light, that through the room
Gleams, in the curtained space—
Gleams with its heavenly grace,
Upon early manhood's glorious bloom,
And the furrowed lines and reverend gloom
Of the philosophic face;
They have found for Science place,
At the crumbling threshold of the tomb,
With the daring that its trace
Has left in the land where spectres loom,
And has knocked at the very door of doom,
Nor recoiled from death's embrace.
Gleams, in the curtained space—
Gleams with its heavenly grace,
Upon early manhood's glorious bloom,
And the furrowed lines and reverend gloom
Of the philosophic face;
They have found for Science place,
At the crumbling threshold of the tomb,
With the daring that its trace
Has left in the land where spectres loom,
And has knocked at the very door of doom,
Nor recoiled from death's embrace.
It is God's own patience, whence they draw
The contempt that sports with pain,
And as garment wears the stain,
In the wild pursuit of blood-bought law,
From the quivering of the mangled paw,
From the oped and carven brain,
And the horrors, all their gain,
Of the living things that rent and raw
In their anguish fondly strain,
And beneath the probe and grinding saw,
Must reveal how long without a flaw,
The old love will yet remain.
The contempt that sports with pain,
And as garment wears the stain,
In the wild pursuit of blood-bought law,
75
From the oped and carven brain,
And the horrors, all their gain,
Of the living things that rent and raw
In their anguish fondly strain,
And beneath the probe and grinding saw,
Must reveal how long without a flaw,
The old love will yet remain.
It is God's own earth whereon they tread,
And His breath inspires the skill,
Which they dare abuse for ill,
While they bruise and break the throbbing thread
Of the precious life, and not for bread,
But at fancy's wanton will;
And His breath sustains it still,
Which has given such cunning to the head,
That delights alone to kill;
And the ghastly board is gaily spread,
For the festival but of the dead,
And the ruddy wine to spill.
And His breath inspires the skill,
Which they dare abuse for ill,
While they bruise and break the throbbing thread
Of the precious life, and not for bread,
But at fancy's wanton will;
And His breath sustains it still,
Which has given such cunning to the head,
That delights alone to kill;
And the ghastly board is gaily spread,
For the festival but of the dead,
And the ruddy wine to spill.
It is God's own creature, witness grand
To the wisdom they would try
In their littleness to spy,
With the damnèd knives that bite and brand,
As the writhing victim frets its band,
And escapes a piteous cry
From the tortures it would fly,
That are done and done in a Christian land,
While the priest steps careless by,
And the women even admiring stand;
Lo, it licks the butcher's bloody hand,
In its helpless agony.
To the wisdom they would try
In their littleness to spy,
With the damnèd knives that bite and brand,
As the writhing victim frets its band,
And escapes a piteous cry
From the tortures it would fly,
That are done and done in a Christian land,
While the priest steps careless by,
And the women even admiring stand;
Lo, it licks the butcher's bloody hand,
In its helpless agony.
It is God's own message kind and just,
And the covenant not bound,
By the breast of mercy found,
That they trample low as if the dust,
In the scorn of their never-sated lust,
While the idle laugh goes round,
And the jests that jarring sound,
At the lolling tongue for pity thrust
In vain from the fetters wound,
And the loyal eyes that labour must;
They are murdering love's devoted trust,
And defiling holy ground.
And the covenant not bound,
By the breast of mercy found,
That they trample low as if the dust,
In the scorn of their never-sated lust,
While the idle laugh goes round,
And the jests that jarring sound,
At the lolling tongue for pity thrust
In vain from the fetters wound,
And the loyal eyes that labour must;
They are murdering love's devoted trust,
And defiling holy ground.
It is God's own Truth they madly slight,
As behind their coward walls,
And in Learning's crimsoned halls,
Against faith and God Himself they fight,
Over Science cast a hideous blight
By research, that Nature galls,
And the heart of freedom palls;
And that stern forbidding shaft of light,
As of God's own finger falls,
On the outraged majesty of right,
With the menace of condemning might,
And the crime to judgment calls.
As behind their coward walls,
And in Learning's crimsoned halls,
Against faith and God Himself they fight,
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By research, that Nature galls,
And the heart of freedom palls;
And that stern forbidding shaft of light,
As of God's own finger falls,
On the outraged majesty of right,
With the menace of condemning might,
And the crime to judgment calls.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |