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120
THREE SONNETS.
I. THE CHRISTS OF THE AGES.
There are whose spirit-pangs do far exceed
The pangs the Hebrew weaveth in his crown:
Not on one Son of God high God smiled down,
But such throughout the foolish centuries bleed.
Oh, thrice accursed is the small dim creed
That cramps its votaries' souls before one Cross;
Poor mole-eyed spirits! they count all sufferings dross
Save Christ's,—the English blood-rose but a weed!
The pangs the Hebrew weaveth in his crown:
Not on one Son of God high God smiled down,
But such throughout the foolish centuries bleed.
Oh, thrice accursed is the small dim creed
That cramps its votaries' souls before one Cross;
Poor mole-eyed spirits! they count all sufferings dross
Save Christ's,—the English blood-rose but a weed!
The Christs o' the ages, men and women fair
In spirit as was Christ, or fairer far,
Are crucified indeed—no perfumed air
Of incense-worship crowns them, and no star
Gleams apostolic, fiery, o'er their head:
Men worship not; God worships them instead.
In spirit as was Christ, or fairer far,
Are crucified indeed—no perfumed air
Of incense-worship crowns them, and no star
Gleams apostolic, fiery, o'er their head:
Men worship not; God worships them instead.
(Written on the eve of Good Friday, March 25, 1880.)
121
II. THE CRUCIFIXION OF MANHOOD.
(For Good Friday, 1880.)
To-day, as ever, pale mankind is nailed
Upon the bitter cross; the people go
To weep false tears o'er overrated woe,—
Weeping because one far-off fair life failed.
And what of heights of manhood left unscaled
To-day, because this piteous farce runs so?
What of the sufferers dying beneath snow
Of want of love to-day, by no hymns hailed?
Upon the bitter cross; the people go
To weep false tears o'er overrated woe,—
Weeping because one far-off fair life failed.
And what of heights of manhood left unscaled
To-day, because this piteous farce runs so?
What of the sufferers dying beneath snow
Of want of love to-day, by no hymns hailed?
Ah! shall there be an Easter morn for these,
As through the blood-stained centuries not one day
Hath not loomed like Good Friday gaunt and grey
Upon them; from grim immemorial seas
Of timeless suffering, grievous, marred and wan,
What Easter torch shall light the spirit of man?
As through the blood-stained centuries not one day
Hath not loomed like Good Friday gaunt and grey
Upon them; from grim immemorial seas
Of timeless suffering, grievous, marred and wan,
What Easter torch shall light the spirit of man?
122
III. THE CRUCIFIXION OF WOMANHOOD.
And what of woman? Shall she not arise
Splendid as risen Christ on Easter morn,—
Seeking, dew-kissed, sun-crowned, a flower new-born,
Untraversed haunts of unfamiliar skies?
Shall not the sweet God shine within her eyes?
Shall not her swordless white hand laugh to scorn
The pale black-armoured foes who would have torn
Her banner down, that floated lily-wise?
Splendid as risen Christ on Easter morn,—
Seeking, dew-kissed, sun-crowned, a flower new-born,
Untraversed haunts of unfamiliar skies?
Shall not the sweet God shine within her eyes?
Shall not her swordless white hand laugh to scorn
The pale black-armoured foes who would have torn
Her banner down, that floated lily-wise?
Oh, Christ is risen; leave his grave in peace.
Rise thou, O woman, from thine own poor dreams;
Lo! even for thee an Easter morning gleams
Triumphant, and thine utter woes shall cease
Mayhap: no more shall flow the sacred blood
Of crucified, sad, tortured womanhood.
Rise thou, O woman, from thine own poor dreams;
Lo! even for thee an Easter morning gleams
Triumphant, and thine utter woes shall cease
Mayhap: no more shall flow the sacred blood
Of crucified, sad, tortured womanhood.
(Written on Easter Eve, March 27, 1880.)
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