"Care is not any curse"—I cried,
"To fail is not to sin."
"Wherefore upon the rood Christ died,
If not our souls to win?"
"Because a hero must face death,
If death be in the way."
And as I paused to take my breath,
The priest began to say:
"Son, you forget how Adam fell,
Losing his high estate;
And so God doomed him unto hell,
Save for the Master's fate."
"Yes, I forget—and gladly too—
That ancient Hebrew tale:
How God began a thing to do—
Can the Eternal fail?
"Can He who rides upon the storm,
Who breathes and, lo, the stars!
Whose thought begets a flower-form,
With leaves for avatars;
"Can He who crowns the grass with dew,
And gems the wood with rain;
Fail of His purpose?"—My priest drew
His breath and spoke again:
"Alas, my son! Your words are wild
And far from holy faith;
Your reason is of one beguiled
By some infernal wraith—
"Do you not know the written Word
Tells of our father's fall?
Have you not seen, have you not heard
How death rules over all?"
"There is no death"—I quickly said;
And he: "But all must die!"
"Now is Christ risen from the dead!"
Forthwith I made reply.
"Now is Christ risen and become
Firstfruits of them that slept!"
And lo, the fluent priest was dumb—
He was like one who wept!