Passion-Flowers :: :: University of Virginia Library

Love poured the wine that made them wise,
Love held the torch through damps that smother,
And, in the stranger at his side,
To every man unmasked a brother!

Then Babel's monster discords slank
Like frightened beasts of prey to cover;
The wolf learned wisdom of the lamb;
The ministry of wrath was over.

Well may ye range the burnished plate,
And heap white buds on Jesu's altar,
Ringing the solemn chorus out
From Gospel Greek and Hebrew Psalter.

I too will rest me from the load
I bear through all my week-day toiling,
Thankful, in this still house of God,
To shake off worldly dust and soiling.

In penitential Litanies
The deep heart wails out its contrition;
Remorseful Love, regretful Hope,
Cry up to God for their fruition.

Now praise shall sound—with fuller sweep,
As to a harp more high and holy,
Singeth that ancient tuneful voice:
‘God dwelleth with the meek and lowly.’

The sermon now—the heart must still
Its changeful raptures for a season,
And take the bearings of the times,
And follow Faith with patient Reason.

What canst thou say, appointed man,
To help the brave soul's blind desiring?
How wilt thou guide our fervent zeal
To more direct and true aspiring?

‘My friends, the day we celebrate
Is that of fear and glory blended,
Whereon the promised Holy Ghost,
To bless God's chosen ones, descended.

‘The sad disciples met to pray,
And in intenseness of devotion
Continued till the breath of God
Convulsed the house with mighty motion.

‘Then cloven flames upon them came,
Till, from their fiery immersion,
They rose, and spake in unknown tongues,
Arabian, Cretan, Syrian, Persian;

‘With superhuman eloquence
The wondrous works of God displaying,
All powers miraculous were theirs;
Such are the gifts that follow praying.

‘By you, my friends, be pious thoughts
And prayerful habits cultivated;
Continue earnest on your knees,
Be with this service never sated.

‘Frequent the altar, throng the aisle,
Intent the inward flame to foster,
Mingle the Psalm that David sang
With Litany and Paternoster;

‘And God, who gave these holy men
The grace of soul that we inherit,
In this appointed way shall pour
On you, likewise, His holy Spirit.’

And this, though more ornate and full,
Was all the burthen of his teaching;
But heav'nlier wisdom thundered through
The flimsy foolishness of preaching.

From that dead Bible whence he drew,
Reft of their soul, those rhythmic numbers,
Broke the deep organ tone of Time
Unheard in Apostolic slumbers.

And Christ, my Christ, by doctrine slain,
By ritual buried, from his ashes
Breathed out the fervor of his soul,
And swept the aisles and shook the sashes;

And turned us to the simpler truth
He taught beside the sea's wild splendor,
And showed the meaning of his life
With urgings passionate and tender:

‘For song and prayer, the old time had
The Hebrew and the classic Muses;
I left a rule of work and life,
A work of love, a life of uses.

‘The painful labor of my soul
Brought all Life's day within its morning;
I saw the things that were to be,
And from great height gave timely warning.

‘That height of holy ravishment
Showed me the pallid Earth that fainted;
I stretched my hands for help divine,
(Beware! less prayer with self be tainted.)

‘Armed from these upward communings,
I stood, God's champion, before you,
To war with all who wrought you wrong,
And wave heaven's own protection o'er you.

‘I stood to tear the lying garb
Which helped the hypocrite deceive you,
To point you where, in majesty,
The calm Truth waited to receive you.

‘Nor gave I gracious words alone;
My hands unto my heart bore witness;
My blessings grew to benefits,
And wrought out Love through Labor's fitness.

‘The very current of my blood
Ran so alight with helpful feeling,
That men who thronged me in the crowd
Blessed my unconscious gift of healing.

‘I loosed the shuddering heart from death,
That on its pulse untimely presses;
Was careful ev'n lest men should faint
Who followed me in wildernesses.

‘My voice aroused the impotent,
His limbs from fancied chains ungyving;
“Wait not for angels' help,” I cried,
“Arise, and strength shall follow striving.”

‘For humbled woman, too, I spake
A word that saints had left unspoken,
Bade her be judged as man is judged,
And not a hand slung forth its token.

‘I would have brought so clear a light
Between the slave and his oppressor,
That straight the greater had become
The loving guardian of the lesser.

‘But when my righteous ire was roused,
I taught no more by gracious fables;
I scourged the hireling from the shrine,
And overthrew the merchants' tables.

‘When, sped of God, my fate drew nigh
Along the flinty path of duty,
Calmly I walked to welcome it,
Though veiled in horror was its beauty.

‘I followed it to triumph where
The dull Sanhedrim held its sitting,
To homage rendered by the scourge,
To regal rites, through shame and spitting;

‘To where, by high and priestly right,
Beyond all human force or malice,
The golden ichor of my life
Was offered from its virgin chalice.

‘There my last earthward utterings
Bequeathed my consciousness of heaven,
As, in the heart of God, I saw,
Dying, man's claim to be forgiven.

‘Men marked me by the earnest brow,
The arms stretched wide, as blessing, shielding
All, save the naked heart of Love,
Its thrill to every sorrow yielding.

‘What boots your incense to the tree
In mine own fragrant body rooted?
For which of my brave human deeds
Is your dead worship instituted?

‘Think ye, in these portentous times
Of wrath, and hate, and wild distraction,
Christ dwells within a church that rests
A comfortable, cold abstraction?

‘Think ye that here he sits at ease,
And hears himself supremely lauded?
Seek him in less decorous haunts,
Where backs are scourged and limbs are corded.

‘He stands to view the feast of Life,
Whose vials endless sobs are hushing,
While wanton lips the vintage drink,
Wrung from brave hearts by ruthless crushing.

‘Beside the peasant spent with toil,
That sows his seed of life, scarce feeding
His group of famished little ones,
Whose joyless birth has hopeless breeding.

‘Or near that deadlier tainted crew,
Whose painful looms provide you raiment,
Who suffer hell to clothe the world,
And have their nakedness in payment.

‘He stands where earnest minds assert
God's law against a creed dogmatic,
And from dead symbols free the truth
Of which they once were emblematic.

‘He is where patriots pine in cells,
To felons chained, or faint and gory
Ascend the scaffold steps, to leave
Their children's heritage of glory.

‘He is where men of fire-touched lips
Tell, to astonished congregations,
The infamies that prop a crown,
And paint in blood the wrongs of nations.

‘He cries: “On, brethren! draw the sword;
Loose the bold tongue and pen, unfearing;
The weakness of our human flesh
Is ransomed by your persevering!”

‘'Twas for the multitude I bled,
Not for the greatest, richest, whitest;
My very cheek, thou knout-armed Russ,
Takes color from the cheek thou smitest;

‘My very heart, most Christian prince,
Wakes sullen Spielberg with its sighing;
My very mother, childless, weeps
Above those brave young Lombards dying.

‘My very child, since children mark
The earthward ripening of our nature,
Is sold in yonder negro babe,
That ne'er shall know its father's feature.

‘The pang of Judas' deadly sin,
Of Peter's cowardly forsaking,
Was less than that of Christian stripes,
That wake my wounds to hourly aching.

‘And when I, passing, see inscribed
My name upon some costly building,
Whose deep aisles open up to shrines
Splendent with purple and with gilding;

‘Where pampered priests, with bell and book,
A simulation make of praying,
While the poor, ever-cheated, wait,
Heart-sick with hope, on my delaying;

‘I think upon those mocking men
Who call me Monarch, to deride me;
Think, they who gave the robe of pride
Were ever they that crucified me.’