 | Under the dawn |  |
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CHRIST'S SERMON IN THE CITY.
Beneath our haze of London smoke
Christ stood in human garb again,
Bearing once more the fleshly yoke
Of sorrow, and of fiery pain,
And this world's fiery blows that rain
On strongest rowers, as they strain
Broad heaving chests at every stroke:
Christ stood in human garb again,
Bearing once more the fleshly yoke
Of sorrow, and of fiery pain,
And this world's fiery blows that rain
On strongest rowers, as they strain
Broad heaving chests at every stroke:
Hurling the world's slow vessel through
The palpitating seas of Time,
And sundering the flashing blue,
In harmony to sweet-voiced rhyme,
In harmony to Progress' chime,
Watching her full-mouthed chant sublime,
Most ancient, yet ever new;
The palpitating seas of Time,
And sundering the flashing blue,
In harmony to sweet-voiced rhyme,
In harmony to Progress' chime,
Watching her full-mouthed chant sublime,
Most ancient, yet ever new;
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Hurling the world's slow boat along
With struggle, and with yearning sobs,
And eyes that worship Progress' song;
Yea, each adoring bosom throbs
As if a woman sits and robs
Their spirits, flying like the globes
That greet the oars, a frantic throng,
With struggle, and with yearning sobs,
And eyes that worship Progress' song;
Yea, each adoring bosom throbs
As if a woman sits and robs
Their spirits, flying like the globes
That greet the oars, a frantic throng,
After her swift exulting feet—
So Progress sits within the stern
Of this world's vessel, and we greet
Her countenance at every turn,
And our adoring spirits burn,
And all our hearts do follow, and yearn
For pressure of her bosom sweet.
So Progress sits within the stern
Of this world's vessel, and we greet
Her countenance at every turn,
And our adoring spirits burn,
And all our hearts do follow, and yearn
For pressure of her bosom sweet.
Yea, as we struggle at the oars,
We meet her with clear yearning eyes,
And she transfers from moving shores
Her own to our looks as they rise,
Even as a lover, rowing, tries
To catch with some new sweet surprise
His lady's glance, which veers and soars,
We meet her with clear yearning eyes,
And she transfers from moving shores
Her own to our looks as they rise,
Even as a lover, rowing, tries
To catch with some new sweet surprise
His lady's glance, which veers and soars,
Timid, and steering carefully,
And glancing fast from side to side,
Dreading the river, or the sea,
And rude tumultuous boats that ride,
Having for freight no gold-haired bride,
Upon the swift alarming tide
That seeks the ocean: so do we
And glancing fast from side to side,
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And rude tumultuous boats that ride,
Having for freight no gold-haired bride,
Upon the swift alarming tide
That seeks the ocean: so do we
Worship our mistress at the helm,
And, governed by the sweet grey eyes,
Dread tempests none that overwhelm
With sudden shock of white surprise
Ignoble spirits, as they rise
From where the westward thunder lies
In Neptune's black uncertain realm.
And, governed by the sweet grey eyes,
Dread tempests none that overwhelm
With sudden shock of white surprise
Ignoble spirits, as they rise
From where the westward thunder lies
In Neptune's black uncertain realm.
And Christ has come to take again
His share of modern work and toil
Tempestuous, and his share of pain
And misery 'neath suns that broil,
And languid sickly moons that foil
The lamps that would be filled with oil,
And ready for the Bridegroom's reign.
His share of modern work and toil
Tempestuous, and his share of pain
And misery 'neath suns that broil,
And languid sickly moons that foil
The lamps that would be filled with oil,
And ready for the Bridegroom's reign.
He stands within the city, dressed
In ordinary quiet guise,
But with a passion unrepressed
Gleaming from deep-set wells of eyes,
Whence pity and love, triumphant, rise
And seek with weeping wings the skies—
Yea, through our city's smoke-fed vest!
In ordinary quiet guise,
But with a passion unrepressed
Gleaming from deep-set wells of eyes,
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And seek with weeping wings the skies—
Yea, through our city's smoke-fed vest!
He stands within the city's smoke,
Far more a man, and more a god
Than when he bore the Hebrews' yoke,
And scourged the proud men with his rod,
And comforted with kindly nod
Sinners whose tears had stained the sod,
Who wept 'neath alder brown, and oak.
Far more a man, and more a god
Than when he bore the Hebrews' yoke,
And scourged the proud men with his rod,
And comforted with kindly nod
Sinners whose tears had stained the sod,
Who wept 'neath alder brown, and oak.
Far more a god than ever when
His Manhood was denied, and he
Was separated from the men
His glorious spirit died to see
For ever white, and firm, and free,
Not bending slavish neck, or knee,
On mountain, or by lake, or glen,
His Manhood was denied, and he
Was separated from the men
His glorious spirit died to see
For ever white, and firm, and free,
Not bending slavish neck, or knee,
On mountain, or by lake, or glen,
Even to himself exalted high
And placed upon a special throne,
Brought nearer to the Father's eye
Than any follower of his own,
Brought closer to the heavenly tone
Of cymbals—further from the moan
Of earth's perpetual agony.
And placed upon a special throne,
Brought nearer to the Father's eye
Than any follower of his own,
Brought closer to the heavenly tone
Of cymbals—further from the moan
Of earth's perpetual agony.
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Further from all the cares of earth,
Uplifted as a special son
Of more than ordinary worth
Towards heaven, and rivalled here by none,
Though all life's golden threads are spun
From God's hands, and their tissues run
Round every cradle and new birth.
Uplifted as a special son
Of more than ordinary worth
Towards heaven, and rivalled here by none,
Though all life's golden threads are spun
From God's hands, and their tissues run
Round every cradle and new birth.
Standing within the city's smoke,
With fiery accent Christ reproves
His worshippers who place a yoke
Upon the nations Time removes
With pitiless fingers from the grooves
Our shoulders suffer—for he loves
Truth most of all, as when he spoke
With fiery accent Christ reproves
His worshippers who place a yoke
Upon the nations Time removes
With pitiless fingers from the grooves
Our shoulders suffer—for he loves
Truth most of all, as when he spoke
In pinnacled Jerusalem,
Saying, “The soul that learns of me
Shall wear the Truth for diadem,
And Truth shall set his spirit free
From every slavish misery,
Nor shall he longer bow the knee
To any gold tyrannic hem,
Saying, “The soul that learns of me
Shall wear the Truth for diadem,
And Truth shall set his spirit free
From every slavish misery,
Nor shall he longer bow the knee
To any gold tyrannic hem,
“Whether of sin, or fate, or devil—
For I will shortly free the race
From the red thraldom of things evil,
Even by the marring of my face
In that accursed bitter place
Where, without beauty, without grace,
With fiends around me in loose revel,
For I will shortly free the race
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Even by the marring of my face
In that accursed bitter place
Where, without beauty, without grace,
With fiends around me in loose revel,
“I conquer Satan once for all;
Let every brave man do the same,
And step as high in heaven's fair hall
As if with Christ's own feet he came;
Yea, let him nourish clearer flame
Of purity, and heal the lame
And sickly, and release from thrall
Let every brave man do the same,
And step as high in heaven's fair hall
As if with Christ's own feet he came;
Yea, let him nourish clearer flame
Of purity, and heal the lame
And sickly, and release from thrall
“The sinner with far surer hand
Than ever was my own, when I
Sent lame men leaping through the land,
And blind men eager now to try
To pierce with happy gaze the sky,
Freed from the darkness where they lie,
An ignorant and hopeless band.
Than ever was my own, when I
Sent lame men leaping through the land,
And blind men eager now to try
To pierce with happy gaze the sky,
Freed from the darkness where they lie,
An ignorant and hopeless band.
“I still preserve the metaphors
With which my first disciples spake,
Hushing the silver-dripping oars
To listen, in that lonely lake,
To tales they fashioned for my sake,
In that they loved me; but the break
Of day brings brighter, lovelier stars,
With which my first disciples spake,
Hushing the silver-dripping oars
To listen, in that lonely lake,
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In that they loved me; but the break
Of day brings brighter, lovelier stars,
“And sweet Truth shines upon the hills;
Ye see, no longer through a cloud,
Those ancient Galilean rills,
And Jesus in his agony bowed
Like any poor man who has ploughed
And toiled, or any saint that vowed
To God the oil with which he fills
Ye see, no longer through a cloud,
Those ancient Galilean rills,
And Jesus in his agony bowed
Like any poor man who has ploughed
And toiled, or any saint that vowed
To God the oil with which he fills
“The vase of his self-sacrifice;
At last ye see me as I am,
No God on mounts of snow and ice,
No sacrificial sheep or ram,
With power to save and power to damn,
In no such guise my spirit came
To thread the dismal haunts of vice
At last ye see me as I am,
No God on mounts of snow and ice,
No sacrificial sheep or ram,
With power to save and power to damn,
In no such guise my spirit came
To thread the dismal haunts of vice
“And call the evil therefrom; rather
As a pale-browed heroic man,
A pale self-sacrificing father,
Or lover, eager if he can,
To perish in the rose-red van,
With forehead on a sudden wan,
If so his dying soul may gather
As a pale-browed heroic man,
A pale self-sacrificing father,
Or lover, eager if he can,
To perish in the rose-red van,
With forehead on a sudden wan,
If so his dying soul may gather
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“Red bloom of glory for the sweet
Pale woman looking out for news,
There where the rocks and water meet
And mingle browns and greys and blues,
And the great coasting vessels cruise
In England—fearing lest she lose,
Yet worshipping, with woman's heat
Pale woman looking out for news,
There where the rocks and water meet
And mingle browns and greys and blues,
And the great coasting vessels cruise
In England—fearing lest she lose,
Yet worshipping, with woman's heat
“Of silent passion, as her own
Her lover's surely coming glory—
With some such shout, with some such tone,
I perished on the gallows gory
Before my youthful head grew hoary;
And, as upon a promontory
A dying bird is backward blown
Her lover's surely coming glory—
With some such shout, with some such tone,
I perished on the gallows gory
Before my youthful head grew hoary;
And, as upon a promontory
A dying bird is backward blown
“Into the deep abyss of cliff,
Yet finds death better than it seems,
Or as the thin keel of a skiff
Doth vanish with gold transient gleams,
Drawn down beneath the ocean-streams,
And finds a pleasant vale of dreams,
So Death to me was gracious; if,
Yet finds death better than it seems,
Or as the thin keel of a skiff
Doth vanish with gold transient gleams,
Drawn down beneath the ocean-streams,
And finds a pleasant vale of dreams,
So Death to me was gracious; if,
“My brothers, ye would apprehend
The Hebrew hero who has swayed
These stormy years from end to end,
The first thing—cease to be afraid;
The second—cease to be delayed
By priestly fervent cries conveyed
Along the cars the breezes lend;
The Hebrew hero who has swayed
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The first thing—cease to be afraid;
The second—cease to be delayed
By priestly fervent cries conveyed
Along the cars the breezes lend;
“And, thirdly, with clear vision enter
That fragrant universal room
Whereof each mortal is the centre,
And yet the very outmost bloom:
Believe no dreams of broken tomb,
I traversed hell, I saw death's gloom,
In spite of many a brave inventor!
That fragrant universal room
Whereof each mortal is the centre,
And yet the very outmost bloom:
Believe no dreams of broken tomb,
I traversed hell, I saw death's gloom,
In spite of many a brave inventor!
“I am risen; only risen as
Ye now must fail to comprehend;
Not with the foot that trode the grass
In Galilee; my clear limbs bend
To earthly airs no longer:—friend,
Listen to me, and condescend
To hear the very fact that was:
Ye now must fail to comprehend;
Not with the foot that trode the grass
In Galilee; my clear limbs bend
To earthly airs no longer:—friend,
Listen to me, and condescend
To hear the very fact that was:
“I saw their marvellous fond tales
With pity, yet with yearning love;
They strove to tear aside the veils
God wears, and watch without a glove
His bright hand lowered from above,
They inclosed His Spirit in a dove,
A bird that sickens, throbs, and ails;
With pity, yet with yearning love;
They strove to tear aside the veils
God wears, and watch without a glove
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They inclosed His Spirit in a dove,
A bird that sickens, throbs, and ails;
“They inclosed Himself in human form,
Yes, brethren, centred even in me,
And gave their God a body warm,
And muscles, and a sinewy knee,
That their slow faithlessness might see,
Not knowing God, not knowing that He
Is visible in every storm,
Yes, brethren, centred even in me,
And gave their God a body warm,
And muscles, and a sinewy knee,
That their slow faithlessness might see,
Not knowing God, not knowing that He
Is visible in every storm,
“Riding upon the outspread wings
Of time, of thunder, and of space,
Not closed in any fleshly rings,
But manifested in each place,
And in each innocent child's face,
And every delicate girl's grace,
And throat of every bird that sings—
Of time, of thunder, and of space,
Not closed in any fleshly rings,
But manifested in each place,
And in each innocent child's face,
And every delicate girl's grace,
And throat of every bird that sings—
“And valiant shoulders of a man,
And inmost tissues of the brain,
The bravest sword in every van,
The foremost 'mid the bloody rain,
And sweetest rhyme in every strain—
Yet Personal He doth remain,
Invisible since time began.
And inmost tissues of the brain,
The bravest sword in every van,
The foremost 'mid the bloody rain,
And sweetest rhyme in every strain—
Yet Personal He doth remain,
Invisible since time began.
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“The perfectly incarnate God
Is in the perfect coming race
That shall achieve a kingly rod
And queenly sceptre in each place;
Yea, herein shines the Father's face,
And His unspeakable clear grace,
And their foot sounds upon the sod,
Is in the perfect coming race
That shall achieve a kingly rod
And queenly sceptre in each place;
Yea, herein shines the Father's face,
And His unspeakable clear grace,
And their foot sounds upon the sod,
“As His foot; but the Hebrew king,
The past Jehovah, even I,
Already to my garments cling
Signs of decay; I have to die,
That Man may be exalted high,
And many a bright bird in the sky
The praise of his new sceptre sing.
The past Jehovah, even I,
Already to my garments cling
Signs of decay; I have to die,
That Man may be exalted high,
And many a bright bird in the sky
The praise of his new sceptre sing.
“Let God and Man be all in all;
I perish, yea, I feel again
Death's icy pangs throughout me crawl,
And his moist teeth in every vein;
I care not! so the Race retain
Sweet Beauty, and their sons remain
Godlike, immaculate, and tall.
I perish, yea, I feel again
Death's icy pangs throughout me crawl,
And his moist teeth in every vein;
I care not! so the Race retain
Sweet Beauty, and their sons remain
Godlike, immaculate, and tall.
“But, sweet and fair and foolish friend
I pray you, cease to worship me,
For in this age my sceptre ends,
And priests who strove tyrannically
To set me where I would not be
Are plunged at last in terror's sea,
And, with a crash, their God descends.
I pray you, cease to worship me,
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And priests who strove tyrannically
To set me where I would not be
Are plunged at last in terror's sea,
And, with a crash, their God descends.
“Descends; as Dagon fell of old
In that devout dim-lighted hall,
With rustle of jewels and of gold;
Even so the priestly God shall fall
In their great midmost festival,
And Man shall be the crown of all,
And new sweet blossoms shall unfold
In that devout dim-lighted hall,
With rustle of jewels and of gold;
Even so the priestly God shall fall
In their great midmost festival,
And Man shall be the crown of all,
And new sweet blossoms shall unfold
“Their tender grace before his look;
Sweet petals, unbeheld before,
Bloom from beside each running brook,
And delicate grasses from the shore,
And stalks and leaves unseen of yore,
That coarser eyes of men ignore,
Now shine by every curve and crook
Sweet petals, unbeheld before,
Bloom from beside each running brook,
And delicate grasses from the shore,
And stalks and leaves unseen of yore,
That coarser eyes of men ignore,
Now shine by every curve and crook
“Of the sweet-shining river of Time,
As down its gentle progress comes,
Helped on by many a helpful rhyme,
Not unbeholden too, to drums
And swords, and the perplexèd hums
Of armies, and the foam and scums
Of many a yeasty sinful clime;
As down its gentle progress comes,
Helped on by many a helpful rhyme,
Not unbeholden too, to drums
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Of armies, and the foam and scums
Of many a yeasty sinful clime;
“Bearing upon its bosom all
The mingled ecstasies of life,
The wings that soar, the feet that crawl,
The murderer swaying bloody knife,
The lover, all his senses rife
With pleasure—husband too, and wife,
In tower and cottage, and in hall.
The mingled ecstasies of life,
The wings that soar, the feet that crawl,
The murderer swaying bloody knife,
The lover, all his senses rife
With pleasure—husband too, and wife,
In tower and cottage, and in hall.
“Time bears these foaming beads along
Towards the far-sounding purple sea,
Till they unite in ocean's song,
At last set loose—made clean and free
From personal impurity,
Eager at last to join and be
A sinless and melodious throng.
Towards the far-sounding purple sea,
Till they unite in ocean's song,
At last set loose—made clean and free
From personal impurity,
Eager at last to join and be
A sinless and melodious throng.
“I watch the flowing stream of time,
From Calvary, across the years,
And from my pinnacle sublime
Am cognizant of Death that nears,
But all my individual tears
And hopes and joys and cries and fears
Shall sink—Humanity shall climb,
From Calvary, across the years,
And from my pinnacle sublime
Am cognizant of Death that nears,
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And hopes and joys and cries and fears
Shall sink—Humanity shall climb,
“A Saviour new, towards unshaped stars,
Achieving heights I never trode,
Triumphant even in fiercer wars,
Brought nearer to the heart of God
And His sweet passionless abode,
By even a more terrific road,
And sorrow that more sadly mars
Achieving heights I never trode,
Triumphant even in fiercer wars,
Brought nearer to the heart of God
And His sweet passionless abode,
By even a more terrific road,
And sorrow that more sadly mars
“The forehead of Humanity—
Whose members are as struggling limbs
Whereby the body mounts the tree
Of Progress; thus the creature climbs,
Till Death inevitable dims
Its brightness, and the glazed eye swims,
And sinews shudder awfully.
Whose members are as struggling limbs
Whereby the body mounts the tree
Of Progress; thus the creature climbs,
Till Death inevitable dims
Its brightness, and the glazed eye swims,
And sinews shudder awfully.
“But yet the Race shall rise again,
As I, its predecessor, rose
From all the torments and the pain,
And bruising agony of blows,
And horror, as of storm-swept snows;
Follow, fair race, where Jesus goes—
Suffer, to laugh—to live, be slain!”
As I, its predecessor, rose
From all the torments and the pain,
And bruising agony of blows,
And horror, as of storm-swept snows;
Follow, fair race, where Jesus goes—
Suffer, to laugh—to live, be slain!”
| Under the dawn | |