162
THE SWORD OF SONG
Mystical mean-
ing of ‘‘ Ascen.
sion Day.”
Futility of
whole discus-
sion, in view of
facts.
At the whole fabric—nor the seas
Filled with those innocent agonies
Of Pagan Martyrs that once bled,
Of Christian Martyrs damned and dead
In inter-Christian bickerings,
Where hate exults and torture springs,
A lion on anguished flesh and blood,
A vulture on ill-omen wings,
A cannibal “* on human food.
Nor do I cry the scoffer’s cry,
That Christians live and look the lie
Their faith has taught them: none of these
Inspire my life, disturb my peace.
I go beneath the outward faith
Find it a devil or a wraith,
Just as my mood or temper tends!
And thus to-day that “ Christ ascends,”
I take the symbol, leave the fact,
Decline to make the smallest pact
With your creative Deity,
And say: The Christhood-soul in me,
Risen of late, is now quite clear
Even of the smallest taint of Earth.
Supplanting God, the Man has birth
(“ New Birth” you'll call the same, I fear,)
Transcends the ordinary sphere
And flies in the direction ‘‘x.”
(There lies the fourth dimension.) Vex
My soul no more with mistranslations
From Genesis to Revelations,
But leave me with the Flaming Star,”
Jeheshua (See thou Zohar !)
And thus our formidable Pigeon-
Lamb-and-Old-Gentleman religion
Fizzles in smoke, and I am found
Attacking nothing. Here’s the ground,
Pistols, and coffee—three in one,
(Alas, O Rabbi Schimeon !)
But never a duellist—mno Son,
No Father, and (to please us most)
Decency pleads—no Holy Ghost !
All vanish at the touch of truth,
A cobweb trio—-like, in sooth,
705
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