Sing till Jehovah is shamed by that prayer—
False to the covenant sealed by her pain,
He Who hath damned what she suckled with care—
Sing back the years, and her love is again!
Gone is the Seraph! O God! and O God!
Thou only art left, Thou only, and I—
Wouldst have my pity? I who am a clod
Give that much, Torturer, throned in the sky.
Man is unconquered, Jehovah hath failed;
Love and not Hate is the end of the law!
Lonely is He, and His heart is assailed
By the swift arrow He ventured to draw—
Head to the bow and the haft to the cord—
Arrow called "Judgment" and "Rod of His Might,"
Barbed with the vengeance and wrath of the Lord,
Winged with the flame of an infinite Right!
Yea, Thou hast pity! and Man will forgive—
Man will forgive and Thine anger forget—
Man who hath learned in the dying, to live!
Open the books, for the judgment is set:
Was I to blame that Lazarus lurked
Loathsome with sores at the banqueting hall,
Vile in return for the labour he shirked,
Begging for crumbs when the world was his all?
"The race to the swift," the proverb hath said;
Fleet-footed I strove and won to the goal,
Got me a palace, anointed my head,
Unctioned my body and pleasured my soul—
Pleasured my soul that is tortured in hell!
Unctioned my body that crumbles to dust!
Got me a palace whose pinnacles fell!
Gone are the garments to moth and to rust!
Dim are the depths of the gulf of my pain!
Memory burns! ... The fine linen! ... The feast!
Beautiful faces of souls I have slain!
Blood of the threatening prophet and priest!
*****