1. |
2. | [II. This cross between a curse and psalm] |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
12. |
13. |
14. |
15. |
16. |
17. |
18. |
19. |
20. |
21. |
22. |
23. |
24. |
25. |
26. |
27. |
28. |
29. |
30. |
31. |
32. |
33. |
34. |
35. |
36. |
37. |
38. |
39. |
40. |
41. |
42. |
43. |
44. |
45. |
46. |
47. |
48. |
49. |
50. |
51. |
52. |
53. |
54. |
55. |
56. |
57. |
58. |
59. |
60. |
61. |
62. |
63. |
64. |
65. |
66. |
67. |
68. |
69. |
70. |
71. |
72. |
73. |
74. |
75. |
76. |
77. |
78. |
79. |
80. |
81. |
82. |
83. |
84. |
85. |
86. |
87. |
88. |
89. |
90. |
91. |
92. |
93. |
94. |
95. |
96. |
97. |
98. |
99. |
100. |
101. |
102. |
103. |
104. |
105. |
106. |
107. |
The book of the dead | ||
10
[II. This cross between a curse and psalm]
This cross between a curse and psalm
I utter with a holy scorn,
I lift my pierced and bleeding palm,
I point you where the nail has torn.
I utter with a holy scorn,
I lift my pierced and bleeding palm,
I point you where the nail has torn.
I drag to light a private grief,
I brandish it before your eyes;
Not that the action gives relief,
Nor asks to hear another's sighs.
I brandish it before your eyes;
Not that the action gives relief,
Nor asks to hear another's sighs.
I checked awhile the brimming tide,
I held it backward from the world;
It burst at last, and far and wide
Flames ran, and burning stones were hurled.
I held it backward from the world;
It burst at last, and far and wide
Flames ran, and burning stones were hurled.
This grief of mine my soul had stirred
To song, had never poet sung;
There are some wrongs that will be heard,
That find or make themselves a tongue.
To song, had never poet sung;
There are some wrongs that will be heard,
That find or make themselves a tongue.
11
I move by some mysterious law,
The law that makes the singer sing,
Though the sharp draught these miscreants draw
Be, to their class, a wholesome thing.
The law that makes the singer sing,
Though the sharp draught these miscreants draw
Be, to their class, a wholesome thing.
The tears that mingle with the bane
Are holy, and in mercy given;
Let no man wipe away their stain;
I wish to show the marks in heaven.
Are holy, and in mercy given;
Let no man wipe away their stain;
I wish to show the marks in heaven.
It humbles me that I must use,
At times, the shape of common woes;
But mourners' robes are few to choose;
Like utterance from like sorrow flows.
At times, the shape of common woes;
But mourners' robes are few to choose;
Like utterance from like sorrow flows.
Outstretched I hold my acrid cup,
I ask no grace from king or clown;
The hardy hand that takes it up,
May curse me when he sets it down.
I ask no grace from king or clown;
The hardy hand that takes it up,
May curse me when he sets it down.
The book of the dead | ||