 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary with introduction and notes |  |
THE FOLLOWERS OF CHRIST.
What were thy teachings? Thou who hadst not where
In all this weary earth to lay thy head;
Thou who wert made the sins of men to bear,
And break with publicans thy daily bread!
Turning from Nazareth, the despised, aside,
And dwelling in the cities by the sea,
What were thy words to those who sat and dried
Their nets upon the rocks of Galilee?
In all this weary earth to lay thy head;
Thou who wert made the sins of men to bear,
And break with publicans thy daily bread!
Turning from Nazareth, the despised, aside,
And dwelling in the cities by the sea,
What were thy words to those who sat and dried
Their nets upon the rocks of Galilee?
Didst thou not teach thy followers here below,
Patience, long-suffering, charity, and love;
To be forgiving, and to anger slow,
And perfect, like our blessed Lord above?
And who were they, the called and chosen then,
Through all the world, teaching thy truth, to go?
Were they the rulers, and the chiefest men,
The teachers in the synagogue? Not so!
Makers of tents, and fishers by the sea,
These only left their all to follow thee.
Patience, long-suffering, charity, and love;
To be forgiving, and to anger slow,
And perfect, like our blessed Lord above?
And who were they, the called and chosen then,
Through all the world, teaching thy truth, to go?
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The teachers in the synagogue? Not so!
Makers of tents, and fishers by the sea,
These only left their all to follow thee.
And even of the twelve whom thou didst name
Apostles of thy holy word to be,
One was a devil; and the one who came
With loudest boasts of faith and constancy,
He was the first thy warning who forgot,
And said, with curses, that he knew thee not!
Yet were there some who in thy sorrows were
To thee even as a brother and a friend,
And women, seeking out the sepulchre,
Were true and faithful even to the end:
And some there were who kept the living faith
Through persecution even unto death.
Apostles of thy holy word to be,
One was a devil; and the one who came
With loudest boasts of faith and constancy,
He was the first thy warning who forgot,
And said, with curses, that he knew thee not!
Yet were there some who in thy sorrows were
To thee even as a brother and a friend,
And women, seeking out the sepulchre,
Were true and faithful even to the end:
And some there were who kept the living faith
Through persecution even unto death.
But, Saviour, since that dark and awful day
When the dread temple's veil was rent in twain,
And while the noontide brightness fled away,
The gaping earth gave up her dead again;
Tracing the many generations down,
Who have professed to love thy holy ways,
Through the long centuries of the world's renown,
And through the terrors of her darker days—
Where are thy followers, and what deeds of love
Their deep devotion to thy precepts prove?
When the dread temple's veil was rent in twain,
And while the noontide brightness fled away,
The gaping earth gave up her dead again;
Tracing the many generations down,
Who have professed to love thy holy ways,
Through the long centuries of the world's renown,
And through the terrors of her darker days—
Where are thy followers, and what deeds of love
Their deep devotion to thy precepts prove?
Turn to the time when o'er the green hills came
Peter the Hermit from the cloister's gloom,
Telling his followers in the Saviour's name
To arm and battle for the sacred tomb;
Not with the Christian armor—perfect faith,
And love which purifies the soul from dross—
But holding in one hand the sword of death,
And in the other lifting up the cross,
He roused the sleeping nations up to feel
All the blind ardor of unholy zeal!
Peter the Hermit from the cloister's gloom,
Telling his followers in the Saviour's name
To arm and battle for the sacred tomb;
Not with the Christian armor—perfect faith,
And love which purifies the soul from dross—
But holding in one hand the sword of death,
And in the other lifting up the cross,
He roused the sleeping nations up to feel
All the blind ardor of unholy zeal!
With the bright banner of the cross unfurled,
And chanting sacred hymns, they marched, and yet
They made a pandemonium of the world,
More dark than that where fallen angels met:
The singing of their bugles could not drown
The bitter curses of the hunted down!
Richard, the lion-hearted, brave in war,
Tancred, and Godfrey, of the fearless band,
Though earthly fame had spread their names afar,
What were they but the scourges of the land?
And worse than these were men, whose touch would be
Pollution, vowed to lives of sanctity!
And chanting sacred hymns, they marched, and yet
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More dark than that where fallen angels met:
The singing of their bugles could not drown
The bitter curses of the hunted down!
Richard, the lion-hearted, brave in war,
Tancred, and Godfrey, of the fearless band,
Though earthly fame had spread their names afar,
What were they but the scourges of the land?
And worse than these were men, whose touch would be
Pollution, vowed to lives of sanctity!
And in thy name did men in other days
Construct the Inquisition's gloomy cell,
And kindle persecution to a blaze,
Likest of all things to the fires of hell!
Ridley and Latimer—I hear their song
In calling up each martyr's glorious name,
And Cranmer, with the praises on his tongue
When his red hand dropped down amid the flame!
Merciful God! and have these things been done,
And in the name of thy most holy Son?
Construct the Inquisition's gloomy cell,
And kindle persecution to a blaze,
Likest of all things to the fires of hell!
Ridley and Latimer—I hear their song
In calling up each martyr's glorious name,
And Cranmer, with the praises on his tongue
When his red hand dropped down amid the flame!
Merciful God! and have these things been done,
And in the name of thy most holy Son?
Turning from other lands grown old in crime,
To this, where Freedom's root is deeply set,
Surely no stain upon its folds sublime
Dims the escutcheon of our glory yet?
To this, where Freedom's root is deeply set,
Surely no stain upon its folds sublime
Dims the escutcheon of our glory yet?
Hush! came there no sound upon the air
Like captives moaning from their native shore—
Woman's deep wail of passionate despair
For home and kindred seen on earth no more!
Yes, standing in the market-place, I see
Our weaker brethren coldly bought and sold,
To be in hopeless, dull captivity,
Driven forth to toil like cattle from the fold.
And hark! the lash, and the despairing cry
Of the strong man in perilous agony!
Like captives moaning from their native shore—
Woman's deep wail of passionate despair
For home and kindred seen on earth no more!
Yes, standing in the market-place, I see
Our weaker brethren coldly bought and sold,
To be in hopeless, dull captivity,
Driven forth to toil like cattle from the fold.
And hark! the lash, and the despairing cry
Of the strong man in perilous agony!
And near me I can hear the heavy sound
Of the dull hammer borne upon the air:
Is a new city rising from the ground?
What hath the artisan constructed there?
'T is not a palace, nor an humble shed;
'T is not a holy temple reared by hands:
No!—lifting up its dark and bloody head
Right in the face of Heaven, the scaffold stands;
And men, regardless of “Thou shalt not kill,”
That plainest lesson in the Book of Light,
Even from the very altars tell us still
That evil sanctioned by the law is right!
And preach in tones of eloquence sublime,
To teach mankind that murder is not crime!
Of the dull hammer borne upon the air:
Is a new city rising from the ground?
What hath the artisan constructed there?
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'T is not a holy temple reared by hands:
No!—lifting up its dark and bloody head
Right in the face of Heaven, the scaffold stands;
And men, regardless of “Thou shalt not kill,”
That plainest lesson in the Book of Light,
Even from the very altars tell us still
That evil sanctioned by the law is right!
And preach in tones of eloquence sublime,
To teach mankind that murder is not crime!
And is there nothing to redeem mankind?
No heart that keeps the love of God within?
Is the whole world degraded, weak, and blind,
And darkened by the leprous scales of sin?
No, we will hope that some in meekness sweet,
Still sit, with trusting Mary, at thy feet.
No heart that keeps the love of God within?
Is the whole world degraded, weak, and blind,
And darkened by the leprous scales of sin?
No, we will hope that some in meekness sweet,
Still sit, with trusting Mary, at thy feet.
For there are men of God, who faithful stand
On the far ramparts of our Zion's wall,
Planting the cross of Jesus in some land
That never listened to salvation's call.
And there are some, led by philanthropy,
Men of the feeling heart and daring mind,
Who fain would set the hopeless captive free,
And raise the weak and fallen of mankind.
And there are many in life's humblest way,
Who tread like angels on a path of light,
Who warn the sinful when they go astray,
And point the erring to the way of right;
And the meek beauty of such lives will teach
More than the eloquence of man can preach.
On the far ramparts of our Zion's wall,
Planting the cross of Jesus in some land
That never listened to salvation's call.
And there are some, led by philanthropy,
Men of the feeling heart and daring mind,
Who fain would set the hopeless captive free,
And raise the weak and fallen of mankind.
And there are many in life's humblest way,
Who tread like angels on a path of light,
Who warn the sinful when they go astray,
And point the erring to the way of right;
And the meek beauty of such lives will teach
More than the eloquence of man can preach.
And, blessed Saviour! by thy life of trial,
And by thy death, to free the world from sin,
And by the hope that man, though weak and vile,
Hath something of divinity within—
Still will we trust, though sin and crime be met,
To see thy holy precepts triumph yet!
And by thy death, to free the world from sin,
And by the hope that man, though weak and vile,
Hath something of divinity within—
Still will we trust, though sin and crime be met,
To see thy holy precepts triumph yet!
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary with introduction and notes | |