 | English Roses |  |
IN SUSPENSE.
“Who are you?” the Almighty exclaimed, as He sat
At the portal where Peter should be,
When a gentleman came and uplifted his hat
Or what would be—if earthly were he.
“Here are welcome and favour for folks of each savour,
The highest and lowest and broad;
Even statesmen and drinkers and honest free-thinkers,
Sometimes get a chair at My board;
But I see not a label or docket or mark
Of the proper distinguishing hoods,
Nor a catalogue, sir, to explain—it's all dark,
And I don't pass unticketed goods.”
At the portal where Peter should be,
When a gentleman came and uplifted his hat
Or what would be—if earthly were he.
“Here are welcome and favour for folks of each savour,
The highest and lowest and broad;
Even statesmen and drinkers and honest free-thinkers,
Sometimes get a chair at My board;
But I see not a label or docket or mark
Of the proper distinguishing hoods,
Nor a catalogue, sir, to explain—it's all dark,
And I don't pass unticketed goods.”
“I'm a simple Agnostic, O Lord, and I swear
To my light I was always quite true;
I had many a cross and a burden to bear,
But I gave every detail its due.
I was foe to the fancies of foolish romances
And feelings distorting the gaze,
Though in circumspect Science I put every reliance
And waged war with the crotchet or craze;
I reduced my convictions to substance and shape
And was careful with dogma and cult,
I discovered that man was evolved from the ape
And his soul an organic result.”
To my light I was always quite true;
I had many a cross and a burden to bear,
But I gave every detail its due.
I was foe to the fancies of foolish romances
And feelings distorting the gaze,
Though in circumspect Science I put every reliance
And waged war with the crotchet or craze;
I reduced my convictions to substance and shape
And was careful with dogma and cult,
I discovered that man was evolved from the ape
And his soul an organic result.”
“I remember,” said God, “you threw doubts on My Life,
Dark'ning counsel with words of despair,
And dissected the pineal gland with your knife
But destroyed what you could not repair;
You alleged that all being was bounded by seeing,
And nothing that quickened or moved
In your view low and narrow (not space for a sparrow),
Existed unless it was proved;
I have seats for your victims and hope for the fool
Who at least does the utmost he can,
But no nook for the knave who belongs to no school
And the shadow at best of a man.”
Dark'ning counsel with words of despair,
And dissected the pineal gland with your knife
But destroyed what you could not repair;
You alleged that all being was bounded by seeing,
And nothing that quickened or moved
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Existed unless it was proved;
I have seats for your victims and hope for the fool
Who at least does the utmost he can,
But no nook for the knave who belongs to no school
And the shadow at best of a man.”
“Ah, a hundred times now I have prayed I might cease
From misgivings that bother me still,
But I'm blest if I ever can find a release
From the habit that palsies my will.
And to God have I spoken? Can Silence be broken,
Where none may be perfectly sure?
Were those words or rebounding, and echoes confounding
Of qualms not in fact or secure?
Am I, I? Is there aught? Is it only a dream,
Out of which I shall waken too well
But to guess I'm a straw on some cosmical stream,
Which deludes me with Heaven and Hell?”
From misgivings that bother me still,
But I'm blest if I ever can find a release
From the habit that palsies my will.
And to God have I spoken? Can Silence be broken,
Where none may be perfectly sure?
Were those words or rebounding, and echoes confounding
Of qualms not in fact or secure?
Am I, I? Is there aught? Is it only a dream,
Out of which I shall waken too well
But to guess I'm a straw on some cosmical stream,
Which deludes me with Heaven and Hell?”
“Who is this?” cried the Devil and looked rather blue
With an eye to an orderly sphere,
And no room for a skeptic to alter its hue—
“Who is this that would trouble me here?
Here's a place for the scoffers and slaves of their coffers
Who heap up the dollar or gem,
A retreat for the artist in vice and the Chartist
And the warmest reception for them;
I can make a snug corner for sinner and saint
In the pit of my sulphurous Show,
For they differ but little except for their paint
And that soon passes off down below.”
With an eye to an orderly sphere,
And no room for a skeptic to alter its hue—
“Who is this that would trouble me here?
Here's a place for the scoffers and slaves of their coffers
Who heap up the dollar or gem,
A retreat for the artist in vice and the Chartist
And the warmest reception for them;
I can make a snug corner for sinner and saint
In the pit of my sulphurous Show,
For they differ but little except for their paint
And that soon passes off down below.”
“I am just an Agnostic, your Majesty, please,
And kept always my judgment in hand,
Never daring as others who lied at their ease,
To be rude about you and your land;
I was prudent and sober as suns in October
And did not commit myself once,
I avoided decisions that led to derisions
And parts both of prophet and dunce;
I believed in my senses and reason and such
But avoided conjecture and all
That I could not establish by testing or touch,
Like a beetle and bones or a wall.”
And kept always my judgment in hand,
Never daring as others who lied at their ease,
To be rude about you and your land;
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And did not commit myself once,
I avoided decisions that led to derisions
And parts both of prophet and dunce;
I believed in my senses and reason and such
But avoided conjecture and all
That I could not establish by testing or touch,
Like a beetle and bones or a wall.”
“You are no friend of mine,” said the Devil in dread;
“And, pray, why are you certain and how
You have ended your mortal career and are dead,
When you may be but mocking me now?
I object to acrostics of idle Agnostics,
Who treat me with tentative thought;
If you wish to be famous be still Ignoramus,
Abide in the fogs you have wrought.
Yes, be damned, if you like, and as much as you wish,
But I won't have your dark little games;
You must fry in your own dear elaborate dish,
And not enter to damp out my flames.”
“And, pray, why are you certain and how
You have ended your mortal career and are dead,
When you may be but mocking me now?
I object to acrostics of idle Agnostics,
Who treat me with tentative thought;
If you wish to be famous be still Ignoramus,
Abide in the fogs you have wrought.
Yes, be damned, if you like, and as much as you wish,
But I won't have your dark little games;
You must fry in your own dear elaborate dish,
And not enter to damp out my flames.”
“It's alas and alas for the line of my choice,
And alas for the doom I have made;
Neither God nor the Devil will hark to my voice,
In their kingdoms of light and the shade.
I've for ages been plying between them and trying
In vain for some refuge or rest,
Like a pendulum fated and ever unmated
In hell or on Abraham's breast.
Even yet I am haunted by terrible fears,
Which is God, which the Devil? And O
What am I? And are these simulacra or tears?
And I know that I never shall know.”
And alas for the doom I have made;
Neither God nor the Devil will hark to my voice,
In their kingdoms of light and the shade.
I've for ages been plying between them and trying
In vain for some refuge or rest,
Like a pendulum fated and ever unmated
In hell or on Abraham's breast.
Even yet I am haunted by terrible fears,
Which is God, which the Devil? And O
What am I? And are these simulacra or tears?
And I know that I never shall know.”
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