 | English Roses |  |
ERGA—PARERGA.
“Bring thy erga,” said the Judge,
Calm and lone upon the throne;
And I trembled like an aspen, nor dissembled
What I felt—and I with nothing to atone.
But good Peter gave a nudge,
And encouraged me to hearken
Though the heaven appeared to darken,
And I hardly dared to budge.
For the angels and archangels by the chiliad
Ranged around us, as expectant of an Iliad;
While my record looked so mean,
And before those eyes unclean.
Calm and lone upon the throne;
And I trembled like an aspen, nor dissembled
What I felt—and I with nothing to atone.
But good Peter gave a nudge,
And encouraged me to hearken
Though the heaven appeared to darken,
And I hardly dared to budge.
For the angels and archangels by the chiliad
Ranged around us, as expectant of an Iliad;
While my record looked so mean,
And before those eyes unclean.
“Bring thy erga,” said the Voice
From the white deep infinite
Of the Glory past imagining and story,
Gleaming, burning, with a glamour exquisite.
And my weakness had no choice
But to make the last dread moving
For the Audit's solemn proving,
And had little to rejoice.
Ah, and Cherubim and Seraphim like throstles
Sang at intervals, and all the twelve Apostles
Stood about in shining dress,
And I seemed but filthiness.
From the white deep infinite
Of the Glory past imagining and story,
Gleaming, burning, with a glamour exquisite.
And my weakness had no choice
But to make the last dread moving
For the Audit's solemn proving,
And had little to rejoice.
Ah, and Cherubim and Seraphim like throstles
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Stood about in shining dress,
And I seemed but filthiness.
“Bring thy erga.” So I came
With no friend who could attend
On my trouble, and partake of it and double
Any confidence that laboured to ascend.
I had gathered in my shame
Gold, a goodly pile and portion,
Fruits—if garnered with extortion
And a crown of dubious fame.
These in bags-full groaningly I hugged and carried
Through the phalanxes of splendour, though I tarried
Often and bent dumbly down—
For all heaven became one frown.
With no friend who could attend
On my trouble, and partake of it and double
Any confidence that laboured to ascend.
I had gathered in my shame
Gold, a goodly pile and portion,
Fruits—if garnered with extortion
And a crown of dubious fame.
These in bags-full groaningly I hugged and carried
Through the phalanxes of splendour, though I tarried
Often and bent dumbly down—
For all heaven became one frown.
“Bring thy erga”—And I laid
Low my bags like dirty rags,
As I drivelled in the Light and shrank and shrivelled,
Though to me before they flaunted gay as flags,
And my heart was sore afraid.
While to James Paul rudely stammered,
“Have I then but vainly hammered
On men, works are useless aid?”
And poor James retreated as if met by bristles,
At the thought of those long-winded dear epistles;
And I wondered, who would next
Make me his appropriate text.
Low my bags like dirty rags,
As I drivelled in the Light and shrank and shrivelled,
Though to me before they flaunted gay as flags,
And my heart was sore afraid.
While to James Paul rudely stammered,
“Have I then but vainly hammered
On men, works are useless aid?”
And poor James retreated as if met by bristles,
At the thought of those long-winded dear epistles;
And I wondered, who would next
Make me his appropriate text.
“Bring thy erga!” And I saw
No more sheaves but withered leaves,
Husks and losses and a treasury like drosses,
Wreck and rubbish as if stuff from ragged eaves
Blown by tempests' ruthless law;
All my ransom and its rightness
With the excellence and brightness,
Turned to squalid trash and straw!
And I sadly noticed how my patron Peter
Edged away from me, when I proved incompleter
Than he thought, not now assuaged—
As if otherwise engaged.
No more sheaves but withered leaves,
Husks and losses and a treasury like drosses,
Wreck and rubbish as if stuff from ragged eaves
Blown by tempests' ruthless law;
All my ransom and its rightness
With the excellence and brightness,
Turned to squalid trash and straw!
And I sadly noticed how my patron Peter
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Than he thought, not now assuaged—
As if otherwise engaged.
“Bring thy erga!” And I cried,
“I have none but tasks undone,
Deeds neglected and my duties' claims rejected
For the profit ever wooed and vilely won;
And the Master was denied.
Never did I dream of brothers,
Save what I could squeeze from others—
And the Cross I still defied.”
Then sweet John whose face was one glad revelation
Stept to me with speech that was an inspiration,
And he said, “Thy scanty store,
Little lover, must have more.”
“I have none but tasks undone,
Deeds neglected and my duties' claims rejected
For the profit ever wooed and vilely won;
And the Master was denied.
Never did I dream of brothers,
Save what I could squeeze from others—
And the Cross I still defied.”
Then sweet John whose face was one glad revelation
Stept to me with speech that was an inspiration,
And he said, “Thy scanty store,
Little lover, must have more.”
“Hast thou no parerga here?”
Murmured John, when hope seemed gone.
And my blindness felt a sudden ray of kindness
Touch me, which for just a moment bravely shone;
Though my greatest gifts were sere,
And my life an empty bubble
Tost as idly as the stubble,
In that holy atmosphere.
But when thus the tide was turning in my favour,
And the question had a friendly sound and savour;
Peter seemed to have a shock,
Or to hear some crowing cock.
Murmured John, when hope seemed gone.
And my blindness felt a sudden ray of kindness
Touch me, which for just a moment bravely shone;
Though my greatest gifts were sere,
And my life an empty bubble
Tost as idly as the stubble,
In that holy atmosphere.
But when thus the tide was turning in my favour,
And the question had a friendly sound and savour;
Peter seemed to have a shock,
Or to hear some crowing cock.
“No parerga?” And I gazed,
As he spoke, within my poke,
Just inquiring and with pallid brow perspiring
When a vestige of his meaning on me broke,
Half desponding and half dazed;
And I marked, amid the bitter
Dust and dregs the hopeful glitter
Of a gem or two—amazed.
While I nearer looked and caught their coruscation,
Mark and Matthew who had held confabulation,
Whispered, “Take each precious stone,
Lay them down before the Throne.”
As he spoke, within my poke,
Just inquiring and with pallid brow perspiring
When a vestige of his meaning on me broke,
Half desponding and half dazed;
And I marked, amid the bitter
Dust and dregs the hopeful glitter
Of a gem or two—amazed.
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Mark and Matthew who had held confabulation,
Whispered, “Take each precious stone,
Lay them down before the Throne.”
“No parerga?” And I saw,
As I stept and humbly wept
With my meagre gifts among a thousand eager
Eyes and faces, what I had unconscious kept;
Gentle words without the flaw
Of a grudging said, and nameless
Deeds considered not but blameless—
Done for neighbours and no law.
Tiny were they, and o'ershadowed by the rotten
Heaps of hoarded rubbish there and quite forgotten;
Yet they glimmered from the dark,
In their little glow-worm spark.
As I stept and humbly wept
With my meagre gifts among a thousand eager
Eyes and faces, what I had unconscious kept;
Gentle words without the flaw
Of a grudging said, and nameless
Deeds considered not but blameless—
Done for neighbours and no law.
Tiny were they, and o'ershadowed by the rotten
Heaps of hoarded rubbish there and quite forgotten;
Yet they glimmered from the dark,
In their little glow-worm spark.
“These parerga,” cried the Judge
From the night of dazzling Light,
“Not the seeming of great acts are thy redeeming!”
And, from his arrested and prudential flight,
Peter then renewed his nudge;
While the hierarchies chanted
And on small deserts descanted,
When I did not downward trudge.
And they brought a harp, a halo, a white garment
For my nakedness and sores and every scar meant;
Till I sang like birds in June,
If a trifle out of tune.
From the night of dazzling Light,
“Not the seeming of great acts are thy redeeming!”
And, from his arrested and prudential flight,
Peter then renewed his nudge;
While the hierarchies chanted
And on small deserts descanted,
When I did not downward trudge.
And they brought a harp, a halo, a white garment
For my nakedness and sores and every scar meant;
Till I sang like birds in June,
If a trifle out of tune.
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