Then through the clamour and dust of the street
Words of rebuke were directed to me:
"Lift thou up Lazarus; give him a seat
High among all who are feasting with thee."
Lift up the beggar! I laughed at Him there—
"Thou and Thy tattered ones take to the street—
I to the palace ... Begone! ... And beware!
Caiaphas comes, and the Sanhedrin meet!
"Go! or I hale Thee to judgment of them;
Go! or Thy God shall avail Thee in vain;
Thou art of Japheth, and I am of Shem
Lazarus, outcast and cursed with Cain!
"Needs must there be a division of men;
Hewer of wood is the Gibeonite,
Cutter of stone in the quarries, and then
Slave to the Covenant-Israelite."
"Nay, all are equal and loved of the Lord,"
Whispered the Stranger. The listening street,
Filled with the murmur of those who adored,
Hushed at the sound of His voice that was sweet,
Stirring my heart as a harp in the hall,
Silent for ages, is stirred by the wind
Breathed through the arras; and memories call
Over the summits of spirit and mind.
Yea, for a moment I struggled with Love;
Yearned to embrace thee and pour on thy hair
Oil of anointing, and place thee above
All of the guests who were gathering there—
There in my palace of pleasure and ease,
Builded by Herod, and bought with my gold,
Portaled and curtained with soft tapestries
Woven at looms of the Orient, sold
Down in Damascus. A palm in the sands,
That was my palace; a palm with a soul
Breathing of beauty when each leaf expands
Out to the desert which brims like a bowl—
Brims like a bowl of Falernian wine
Turned to the sun! O my palace and hall!
O sound of the psaltery under the vine
Grown in the garden! O footsteps that fall