My Lyrical Life Poems Old and New. By Gerald Massey |
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MAURICE AND THE BIGOTS. |
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 | My Lyrical Life |  |
MAURICE AND THE BIGOTS.
The Savage broke the glass that brought
The heavens nearer, saith the legend!
Even so the Bigots welcome aught
That makes our vision starrier-regioned!
The heavens nearer, saith the legend!
Even so the Bigots welcome aught
That makes our vision starrier-regioned!
All Saviour-souls have sacrificed,
With nought but noble faith for guerdon;
And ere the world has crowned the Christ,
The man to death has borne the burden!
With nought but noble faith for guerdon;
And ere the world has crowned the Christ,
The man to death has borne the burden!
They laid their Corner-stones in dark
Deep waters, who up-built in beauty
Their ever-standing Triumph-Arc
That crowns with glory lives of duty.
Deep waters, who up-built in beauty
Their ever-standing Triumph-Arc
That crowns with glory lives of duty.
79
And meekly still the Martyrs go
To keep with Pain their solemn bridal!
And still they walk the fire who bow
Not down to worship Custom's idol.
To keep with Pain their solemn bridal!
And still they walk the fire who bow
Not down to worship Custom's idol.
Our heart-strings sweetest music make
When swept by Suffering's feeling fingers;
And through soul-shadows starriest break
The glories on God's brave light-bringers.
When swept by Suffering's feeling fingers;
And through soul-shadows starriest break
The glories on God's brave light-bringers.
God bless you, Maurice, in our dearth
Your life shall leave a trail of glory;
And gathering round the poor man's hearth
We proudly tell your suffering's story!
Your life shall leave a trail of glory;
And gathering round the poor man's hearth
We proudly tell your suffering's story!
Take heart! though sown in tears and blood,
No seed that's quick with love hath perished;
Though dropped in barren by-ways—God
Some glorious flower of life hath cherished.
No seed that's quick with love hath perished;
Though dropped in barren by-ways—God
Some glorious flower of life hath cherished.
Take heart; the rude dust dark To-day
Soars a new-lighted sphere To-morrow!
And wings of splendour burst the clay
That folds us in Death's fruitful furrow.
Soars a new-lighted sphere To-morrow!
And wings of splendour burst the clay
That folds us in Death's fruitful furrow.
1850.
| My Lyrical Life | |