| |
| A STRAIN of music closed the tale, | |
| A low, monotonous, funeral wail, | |
| That with its cadence, wild and sweet, | |
| Made the long Saga more complete. | |
| |
| “Thank God,” the Theologian said, | 5 |
| “The reign of violence is dead, | |
| Or dying surely from the world; | |
| While Love triumphant reigns instead, | |
| And in a brighter sky o’erhead | |
| His blessed banners are unfurled. | 10 |
| And most of all thank God for this: | |
| The war and waste of clashing creeds | |
| Now end in words, and not in deeds, | |
| And no one suffers loss, or bleeds, | |
| For thoughts that men call heresies. | 15 |
| |
| “I stand without here in the porch, | |
| I hear the bell’s melodious din, | |
| I hear the organ peal within, | |
| I hear the prayer, with words that scorch | |
| Like sparks from an inverted torch, | 20 |
| I hear the sermon upon sin, | |
| With threatenings of the last account. | |
| And all, translated in the air, | |
| Reach me but as our dear Lord’s Prayer, | |
| And as the Sermon on the Mount. | 25 |
| |
| “Must it be Calvin, and not Christ? | |
| Must it be Athanasian creeds, | |
| Or holy water, books, and beads? | |
| Must struggling souls remain content | |
| With councils and decrees of Trent? | 30 |
| And can it be enough for these | |
| The Christian Church the year embalms | |
| With evergreens and boughs of palms, | |
| And fills the air with litanies? | |
| |
| “I know that yonder Pharisee | 35 |
| Thanks God that he is not like me; | |
| In my humiliation dressed, | |
| I only stand and beat my breast, | |
| And pray for human charity. | |
| |
| “Not to one church alone, but seven, | 40 |
| The voice prophetic spake from heaven; | |
| And unto each the promise came, | |
| Diversified, but still the same; | |
| For him that overcometh are | |
| The new name written on the stone, | 45 |
| The raiment white, the crown, the throne, | |
| And I will give him the Morning Star! | |
| |
| “Ah! to how many Faith has been | |
| No evidence of things unseen, | |
| But a dim shadow, that recasts | 50 |
| The creed of the Phantasiasts, | |
| For whom no Man of Sorrows died, | |
| For whom the Tragedy Divine | |
| Was but a symbol and a sign, | |
| And Christ a phantom crucified! | 55 |
| |
| “For others a diviner creed | |
| Is living in the life they lead. | |
| The passing of their beautiful feet | |
| Blesses the pavement of the street, | |
| And all their looks and words repeat | 60 |
| Old Fuller’s saying, wise and sweet, | |
| Not as a vulture, but a dove, | |
| The Holy Ghost came from above. | |
| |
| “And this brings back to me a tale | |
| So sad the hearer well may quail, | 65 |
| And question if such things can be; | |
| Yet in the chronicles of Spain | |
| Down the dark pages runs this stain, | |
| And naught can wash them white again, | |
| So fearful is the tragedy.” | 70 |
| |
