ISAIAH'S IMAGE.
I
He carveth an image, and worshippeth It,
Though hewed from the stock of a tree,
With one bit he roasteth, and with the next bit
Behold, for his god it shall be!
He singeth A ha! I am warm with those chips,
To the residue I will fall down,—
And kiss the dear idol with awe-stricken lips,
My glory, my god, and my crown!
II
He baketh him bread, and he maketh him wine,
And the wheat and the grape are both good;
But lo! he is worshipping something divine
He has chanced to find out in his food —
One part, as an hungred, he ate, and sufficed,
And drank, for his thirst was agape,
But other some parts he had baked was—the Christ!
And the wine was —a god in the grape!
III
Thou feedest on ashes, behold, thou dost bring
A lie—not the truth—in thy hand,—
This tangible visible sensual Thing
As a God thou canst well understand!
But faith in the Saviour as instantly near
In spirit and truth at his feast,
Thou canst not attain to, without (it is clear)
An idol produced by a priest!
IV
O Martyrs! how many by thousands have died,
Have roasted alive at the stake,
Because from your conscience ye nobly denied
The creature for Godhead to take;
Yet here in these Anglican chancels behold,
In spite of their vows to the Lord,
Our traitorous pastors betraying the fold,
To the Image their fathers abhorr'd!
