 | Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton |  |
201
THE EARTH DEFACED.
How wonderful, how beautiful, the world!
At its continual creation, Thou,
O Lord, art present Maker;—fashioned thus
Because it is a dwelling-place to be
Of them who shall be dwelling-place for Thee.
At its continual creation, Thou,
O Lord, art present Maker;—fashioned thus
Because it is a dwelling-place to be
Of them who shall be dwelling-place for Thee.
Thou, Father, build'st this palace for Thy child;
A surface river-marbled, flower-emboss'd,
Scribed with old-time inscriptions in its floor;
Close-clustered trees for its arched columns tall,
And sun, and moon, and stars, high over all.
A surface river-marbled, flower-emboss'd,
Scribed with old-time inscriptions in its floor;
Close-clustered trees for its arched columns tall,
And sun, and moon, and stars, high over all.
'Tis we who shear the lustre from the sun,
And glory from the flowers. Wigwams of mud
We build within thy lofty Parthenon,
Between the noble pillars, and deface
With our mean uses the majestic place.
And glory from the flowers. Wigwams of mud
We build within thy lofty Parthenon,
Between the noble pillars, and deface
With our mean uses the majestic place.
202
The robes Thou giv'st of very cloth of heaven
We tear to shreds wherewith to bind our limbs
In livid pressures; then to those same bonds
We, self-tied, point; to Thee appeal for ease,
And cry, ‘O God! why didst Thou send us these?’
We tear to shreds wherewith to bind our limbs
In livid pressures; then to those same bonds
We, self-tied, point; to Thee appeal for ease,
And cry, ‘O God! why didst Thou send us these?’
Forth from its marvellous founts the air, new-made,
Creeps glad, with health, to the abodes of men;
We shut our doors in the kind creature's face,
And offer incense of deflowered breath—
Invoking-incense—unto Pain and Death.
Creeps glad, with health, to the abodes of men;
We shut our doors in the kind creature's face,
And offer incense of deflowered breath—
Invoking-incense—unto Pain and Death.
The good soul of the trees and flowers we warn
Off from our homes, and will not have her arm
Cast kindly round us; but, close crowding, stand,
Lest, leaving room amongst us, we begin
Haply to let our gentle lover in:
Off from our homes, and will not have her arm
Cast kindly round us; but, close crowding, stand,
Lest, leaving room amongst us, we begin
Haply to let our gentle lover in:
And though to her, indeed, our very frames
Their being owe, for flowers possess their kin
In our own flesh, we hate her even there,
And make our homes dark, that she may not thrive
E'en in our bodies which she keeps alive.
Their being owe, for flowers possess their kin
In our own flesh, we hate her even there,
And make our homes dark, that she may not thrive
E'en in our bodies which she keeps alive.
| Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton | |