Main Street, Other Poems | Page 6

eternity to go stealing fire again."
Lionel Johnson
(For the Rev. John J. Burke, C. S. P.)
There was a murkier tinge in London's air?As if the honest fog blushed black for shame.?Fools sang of sin, for other fools' acclaim,?And Milton's wreath was tossed to Baudelaire.?The flowers of evil blossomed everywhere,?But in their midst a radiant lily came?Candescent, pure, a cup of living flame,?Bloomed for a day, and left the earth more fair.
And was it Charles, thy "fair and fatal King",?Who bade thee welcome to the lovely land??Or did Lord David cease to harp and sing?To take in his thine emulative hand??Or did Our Lady's smile shine forth, to bring?Her lyric Knight within her choir to stand?
Father Gerard Hopkins, S. J.
Why didst thou carve thy speech laboriously,?And match and blend thy words with curious art??For Song, one saith, is but a human heart?Speaking aloud, undisciplined and free.?Nay, God be praised, Who fixed thy task for thee!?Austere, ecstatic craftsman, set apart?From all who traffic in Apollo's mart,?On thy phrased paten shall the Splendour be!
Now, carelessly we throw a rhyme to God,?Singing His praise when other songs are done.?But thou, who knewest paths Teresa trod,?Losing thyself, what is it thou hast won??O bleeding feet, with peace and glory shod!?O happy moth, that flew into the Sun!
Gates and Doors
(For Richardson Little Wright)
There was a gentle hostler?(And blessed be his name!)?He opened up the stable?The night Our Lady came.?Our Lady and Saint Joseph,?He gave them food and bed,?And Jesus Christ has given him?A glory round his head.
So let the gate swing open?However poor the yard,?Lest weary people visit you?And find their passage barred;?Unlatch the door at midnight?And let your lantern's glow?Shine out to guide the traveler's feet?To you across the snow.
There was a courteous hostler?(He is in Heaven to-night)?He held Our Lady's bridle?And helped her to alight;?He spread clean straw before her?Whereon she might lie down,?And Jesus Christ has given him?An everlasting crown.
Unlock the door this evening?And let your gate swing wide,?Let all who ask for shelter?Come speedily inside.?What if your yard be narrow??What if your house be small??There is a Guest is coming?Will glorify it all.
There was a joyous hostler?Who knelt on Christmas morn?Beside the radiant manger?Wherein his Lord was born.?His heart was full of laughter,?His soul was full of bliss?When Jesus, on His Mother's lap,?Gave him His hand to kiss.
Unbar your heart this evening?And keep no stranger out,?Take from your soul's great portal?The barrier of doubt.?To humble folk and weary?Give hearty welcoming,?Your breast shall be to-morrow?The cradle of a King.
The Robe of Christ
(For Cecil Chesterton)
At the foot of the Cross on Calvary?Three soldiers sat and diced,?And one of them was the Devil?And he won the Robe of Christ.
When the Devil comes in his proper form?To the chamber where I dwell,?I know him and make the Sign of the Cross?Which drives him back to Hell.
And when he comes like a friendly man?And puts his hand in mine,?The fervour in his voice is not?From love or joy or wine.
And when he comes like a woman,?With lovely, smiling eyes,?Black dreams float over his golden head?Like a swarm of carrion flies.
Now many a million tortured souls?In his red halls there be:?Why does he spend his subtle craft?In hunting after me?
Kings, queens and crested warriors?Whose memory rings through time,?These are his prey, and what to him?Is this poor man of rhyme,
That he, with such laborious skill,?Should change from role to role,?Should daily act so many a part?To get my little soul?
Oh, he can be the forest,?And he can be the sun,?Or a buttercup, or an hour of rest?When the weary day is done.
I saw him through a thousand veils,?And has not this sufficed??Now, must I look on the Devil robed?In the radiant Robe of Christ?
He comes, and his face is sad and mild,?With thorns his head is crowned;?There are great bleeding wounds in his feet,?And in each hand a wound.
How can I tell, who am a fool,?If this be Christ or no??Those bleeding hands outstretched to me!?Those eyes that love me so!
I see the Robe -- I look -- I hope --?I fear -- but there is one?Who will direct my troubled mind;?Christ's Mother knows her Son.
O Mother of Good Counsel, lend?Intelligence to me!?Encompass me with wisdom,?Thou Tower of Ivory!
"This is the Man of Lies," she says,?"Disguised with fearful art:?He has the wounded hands and feet,?But not the wounded heart."
Beside the Cross on Calvary?She watched them as they diced.?She saw the Devil join the game?And win the Robe of Christ.
The Singing Girl
(For the Rev. Edward F. Garesche, S. J.)
There was a little maiden?In blue and silver drest,?She sang to God in Heaven?And God within her breast.
It flooded me with pleasure,?It pierced me like a sword,?When this young maiden sang: "My soul?Doth magnify the Lord."
The stars sing all together?And hear the angels sing,?But they said they had never heard?So beautiful a