 | Lazarus And other Poems |  |
And now I sit,
All lonely, homeless, weary of my life,
Thick darkness round me, and the stars all dumb,
That chanted erst their wondrous tale of joy.
And thou hast done it all, O faithless one!
O Gomer! whom I loved as never wife
Was loved in Israel, all the wrong is thine!
Thy hand hath spoilèd all my tender vines,
Thy foot hath trampled all my pleasant fruits,
Thy sin hath laid my honour in the dust.
Men throw the blame on me, they mock my grief;
They wondered at my choice, and whispered words—
“The prophet woo the harlot!”—told their scorn.
They saw in me the poor, weak victim-fool
Of beauty's power to bow the strongest will,
To taint the purest, drive the wisest mad.
Yet call I God to witness, not from pulse
Of sensuous passion thrilling through the veins,
Or love of outward beauty, sought I thee,
And won thee as my bride. Nor charge I thee
With feignèd semblance of a blameless life,
The eyes cast down, and veilèd cheeks that flush,
When looks admiring tell their power to charm.
Not blinded or deceived I made my choice;
I knew thy alien blood, thy wanton heart:
I saw the morning of thy youth defiled;
I watched thee, when the summer sun went down,
And in the purple gleamed the silvery moon
Walking in brightness, join the priestess-throng
In mystic dance, thy timbrel in thy hand,
Thy bright eyes flashing fire, thy streaming hair
O'er neck and bosom falling, all thy soul
Bound by the wild enchantment; and I knew
What followed on the revel, and for grief
And shame I wept. “So fallen, yet so young!
So fair and bright! so stained, polluted, vile!”
And sorrow passed to pity, pity grew
To yearning love. To seek and save the lost,
To call thee mine, and bring thee back to God,
Became the master-passion of my heart,
Forgetful of my calling and my fame:
And never in the hour when rushing streams
Of light from Heaven have flooded all my soul,
Or clear, low whispers from the Eternal Word
Have pointed out my path, have I believed
More firmly that my will was one with God's,
His oracle my one unerring guide,
Than in that hour when all my heart was thine.
All lonely, homeless, weary of my life,
Thick darkness round me, and the stars all dumb,
That chanted erst their wondrous tale of joy.
And thou hast done it all, O faithless one!
O Gomer! whom I loved as never wife
Was loved in Israel, all the wrong is thine!
Thy hand hath spoilèd all my tender vines,
Thy foot hath trampled all my pleasant fruits,
Thy sin hath laid my honour in the dust.
Men throw the blame on me, they mock my grief;
They wondered at my choice, and whispered words—
“The prophet woo the harlot!”—told their scorn.
They saw in me the poor, weak victim-fool
Of beauty's power to bow the strongest will,
To taint the purest, drive the wisest mad.
Yet call I God to witness, not from pulse
Of sensuous passion thrilling through the veins,
Or love of outward beauty, sought I thee,
And won thee as my bride. Nor charge I thee
With feignèd semblance of a blameless life,
The eyes cast down, and veilèd cheeks that flush,
When looks admiring tell their power to charm.
Not blinded or deceived I made my choice;
I knew thy alien blood, thy wanton heart:
87
I watched thee, when the summer sun went down,
And in the purple gleamed the silvery moon
Walking in brightness, join the priestess-throng
In mystic dance, thy timbrel in thy hand,
Thy bright eyes flashing fire, thy streaming hair
O'er neck and bosom falling, all thy soul
Bound by the wild enchantment; and I knew
What followed on the revel, and for grief
And shame I wept. “So fallen, yet so young!
So fair and bright! so stained, polluted, vile!”
And sorrow passed to pity, pity grew
To yearning love. To seek and save the lost,
To call thee mine, and bring thee back to God,
Became the master-passion of my heart,
Forgetful of my calling and my fame:
And never in the hour when rushing streams
Of light from Heaven have flooded all my soul,
Or clear, low whispers from the Eternal Word
Have pointed out my path, have I believed
More firmly that my will was one with God's,
His oracle my one unerring guide,
Than in that hour when all my heart was thine.
| Lazarus And other Poems | |