 | Poems (1885) |  |
320
CHRIST BLESSING LITTLE CHILDREN.
Master, well done! thy sombre colours stoop,
As what they paint did, to the root of things!
Thy Christ hath eyes, whose weary glances droop,
Marred with much love, and all the ache it brings:
Thy children—soft, albeit, their Syrian grace—
Clasp sun-burnt breasts, and drink of milk that cost
Sweat to provide it; from each mother's face
Is gone the bridal beauty; lapsed and lost
Bliss from these bondsmen; yet, how the Divine
Breaks through the clay! how Truth's gold gilds the story!
How longing for heaven's light makes earth's gloom shine!
How lovely, at its lowest, is love's glory!
We see Him as He sate in Palestine.
As what they paint did, to the root of things!
Thy Christ hath eyes, whose weary glances droop,
Marred with much love, and all the ache it brings:
Thy children—soft, albeit, their Syrian grace—
Clasp sun-burnt breasts, and drink of milk that cost
Sweat to provide it; from each mother's face
Is gone the bridal beauty; lapsed and lost
Bliss from these bondsmen; yet, how the Divine
Breaks through the clay! how Truth's gold gilds the story!
321
How lovely, at its lowest, is love's glory!
We see Him as He sate in Palestine.
Lord Christ! these are the little ones that come!
Thou spakest, “Suffer them;” yea, Thou didst say,
“Forbid them not, for in my kingdom some
Are like to such!” O Lord! do Angels lay
Small aching heads on sorrow-laden bosoms?
Do Thy young angels toil, and starve, and weep?
Hardly for these will ope life's morning blossoms
Before their days bring griefs, their nightly sleep
Dreams of the Roman whip. Ah, Master Mild!
Be some great secret of Thy kingdom said
To keep the grown man glad as this male child,
The woman pure as is that tender maid!
They “see Thy Father's face!” Then, how beguiled?
Thou spakest, “Suffer them;” yea, Thou didst say,
“Forbid them not, for in my kingdom some
Are like to such!” O Lord! do Angels lay
Small aching heads on sorrow-laden bosoms?
Do Thy young angels toil, and starve, and weep?
Hardly for these will ope life's morning blossoms
Before their days bring griefs, their nightly sleep
Dreams of the Roman whip. Ah, Master Mild!
Be some great secret of Thy kingdom said
To keep the grown man glad as this male child,
The woman pure as is that tender maid!
They “see Thy Father's face!” Then, how beguiled?
Little sweet sister, standing at His knee!
Small peasant sister! sucking at thy thumb,
Touched to thy tiny heart with the mystery,
Glad to be brought, but far too shy to come;
Ah! tremble, but steal closer; let it cover
All of thy head, that potent, piteous hand;
And, mothers! reach your round-eyed babies over
To take their turn, nought though they understand.
For these thereby are safe, being so kissed
By that Love's lips which kisses out of heaven;
And we, with little children, but no Christ,
Press near; perchance the blessing may be given
From theirs to ours, though we His face have missed.
Small peasant sister! sucking at thy thumb,
322
Glad to be brought, but far too shy to come;
Ah! tremble, but steal closer; let it cover
All of thy head, that potent, piteous hand;
And, mothers! reach your round-eyed babies over
To take their turn, nought though they understand.
For these thereby are safe, being so kissed
By that Love's lips which kisses out of heaven;
And we, with little children, but no Christ,
Press near; perchance the blessing may be given
From theirs to ours, though we His face have missed.
| Poems (1885) | |