 | English Roses |  |
BLOOD AND MILK.
God at His world-loom laboured a-spinning,
God in His lonely light,
Making the human's blessed beginning
Woven to one delight;
Thought was the flesh, and bone out of action
Grew from a core of kindly attraction
Shaping the mighty soul,
Garbed with the will of broad benefaction
Unto a perfect whole.
Nothing unclean He fashioned or common,
Forth from the deeps Divine;
Blood of the man and milk of the woman,
Parted but to entwine.
God in His lonely light,
Making the human's blessed beginning
Woven to one delight;
Thought was the flesh, and bone out of action
Grew from a core of kindly attraction
Shaping the mighty soul,
Garbed with the will of broad benefaction
Unto a perfect whole.
Nothing unclean He fashioned or common,
Forth from the deeps Divine;
Blood of the man and milk of the woman,
Parted but to entwine.
Thus was the start of earthly salvation,
Framing a giant force
Fed by the life of larger creation
Finding in Heaven its source.
This is the secret taught by the sages
Written in peace and bloodier pages,
Lying beneath them all;
Down through the stream of historied stages,
Parent of faith and fall;
Glove of the iron firm as the mountains,
Glove of the softest silk—
Blood of the man, and nourishing fountains
Warmth of the woman's milk.
Framing a giant force
Fed by the life of larger creation
Finding in Heaven its source.
This is the secret taught by the sages
Written in peace and bloodier pages,
Lying beneath them all;
Down through the stream of historied stages,
Parent of faith and fall;
Glove of the iron firm as the mountains,
Glove of the softest silk—
533
Warmth of the woman's milk.
Now as the earth in sunshine and shadow
Rolls its predestined way,
Glow of the hilltop, grace of the meadow
Wax with their wondrous play.
These give to lives their true and appointed
Paths, amid clash and clang of disjointed
Times in the troublous years;
Crowning them kings and queens, if anointed
Only with cruel tears.
These bid the world grow happy and human,
Sloughing its care and crime;
Blood of the man and milk of the woman,
Watering every clime.
Rolls its predestined way,
Glow of the hilltop, grace of the meadow
Wax with their wondrous play.
These give to lives their true and appointed
Paths, amid clash and clang of disjointed
Times in the troublous years;
Crowning them kings and queens, if anointed
Only with cruel tears.
These bid the world grow happy and human,
Sloughing its care and crime;
Blood of the man and milk of the woman,
Watering every clime.
Thence is the progress though by division,
Thence is the central love
Joining our sexes to a decision
Settled in courts above.
So for all seasons unto each ending,
Which is but groundwork for a new tending
Unto a fairer turn,
Riseth the rapture breaking and blending
Hearts that for union burn.
So shall the unseen drawing deliver
Souls to their final rest—
Blood of the man that runs like a river,
Milk of the woman's breast.
Thence is the central love
Joining our sexes to a decision
Settled in courts above.
So for all seasons unto each ending,
Which is but groundwork for a new tending
Unto a fairer turn,
Riseth the rapture breaking and blending
Hearts that for union burn.
So shall the unseen drawing deliver
Souls to their final rest—
Blood of the man that runs like a river,
Milk of the woman's breast.
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