Bodies most marvellously fashioned, stark,
Strewn broadcast out upon the trampled sod—
These temples of the Holy Ghost—O hark!—
These images of God!
Flesh, as the Word became in Bethlehem,
Houses to hold their Sacramental Lord:
Swiftly and terribly to harvest them
Swept the relentless sword!
Happy if in your dying you can give
Some symbol of the Eternal Sacrificed,
Some pardon to the hearts of those who live—
Dying the death of Christ!
Feast of the Epiphany,
January 6th, 1917.
THE BUILDING OF THE CITY
I, JOHN, who once was called by Him in jest
Boanerges, the thunder’s son,
Who lay in tenderness upon His breast—
Now that my days are done,
And a great gathering glory fills my sight,
Would tell my children e’er I go
Of Him I saw with head and hair as white
As white wool—white as snow.
The face before which heaven and earth did flee,
The burnished feet, the eyes of flame,
The seven stars bright with awful mystery,
And the Ineffable Name!
Yet I who saw the four dread horsemen ride,
The vials of the wrath of God,
Beheld a greater thing: the Lamb’s pure Bride,
The golden floors she trod.