University of Virginia Library

“Has then the Christ departed? Is there none
To whom the lonely and the lost may turn?
Does one cold mist of doubt, distrust, despair,
Enwrap the carcase of a sunless world?
The Son of God, the Son of Man, is gone,
Before whose throne we spake adoring praise;
And through the shadows of the past we see
A graceful Rabbi, dreaming glorious dreams,
Dizzied with fame, then weakly stooping low
To poor deceits, whose death alone redeemed
The clouded life, and saved him from the taint
Of conscious falsehood. And the lips that speak
These bold revilings once have hymned His praise;
Those hands have waved the censer's fragrant smoke,
Those knees have knelt upon the altar stairs,
That heart has loved the sacred wounds of Christ!
Why falls not fire from Heaven? why opes not earth
The jaws of Hades? And our zeal is cold;
We listen and we argue, when the sword
Were our best answer, cutting down the pride
That dares blaspheme the Lord and Christ we love.

“But since the days are evil, and men's thoughts
Assert their freedom, other course is ours.
To battle for the faith with arms of proof,
Denouncing, taunting, warning men to shun
The tainted page, to prop the tottering Truth,
Condemning doubts and questions that before
We passed uncensured:—that may help us on
To firmer faith, to high repute of zeal.
Perhaps some fame may follow, and the eyes
Of men admiring watch us as we stand
(As Phinehas stood of old to stay the plague)
Between the dead and living, warding off
Doubt's fell disease, defenders of the faith.
Sweet are those praises to a righteous zeal,
The plaudits of the timid and the good;
And not less sweet the murmurs of the few
Who carp at our advancement. And the praise
May bear its fruit, the title and the wealth,
The years of manhood in abounding ease,
The age of stately honour. When some years
Have passed away, when doubts and answers both
Are clean forgotten, this may yet remain,
For us the only issue of the strife.”

The only issue?—What of those long years
That lie beyond the manhood and the age,
The sickness, and the death? In that far land,
Throughout the eternal ages, will thy thoughts
Run on thus smoothly? Hast thou learnt indeed
To read the times and seasons? Hast thou heard
The witness which the doubter bears to thee?
Thou priest, with waving censer, mitred brow,
And cope all stiff with crimson and with gold,
Hast thou forgotten that the Christ was man?
Hast thou left vacant all the heart's desire,
And mocked it with the likeness of a child
Or image of the Crucified? Thy Lord
Has given thee all the records of His life,
And thou hast made them silent. Wonder not
That men should fill the gap with aught that brings
The living Man before them. They will have
A Jesus with the pulse of human life,
The throbs of human feeling. Failing that,
No pageant show will draw them on to faith,
Nor music's spell enchant them, nor the power
Of ancient systems lull their souls asleep:
But give them this,—proclaim the living Christ,
The youth, the man, all tempted, struggling, worn,
Labouring and suffering as the millions now
Suffer and labour, homeless, poor, contemned,
Not clothed in purple, faring daintily,
But sharing peasants' food in peasants' huts;
And tell them that He bowed Himself to this,
To all the shame, the agony, the Cross,
For them, and sufferers like them,—and be sure
Thou wilt find listeners. Not the gilded shrine
Of Virgin-Mother, clad in gorgeous robes
All star-bespangled, when the anthem swells,
And incense-fragrance floats through loftiest choir,
Will draw more hearts to worship than the tale
Of One who came their Brother and their Friend,
Sharing their nature, living all their life.