The Sword of Song

ASCENSION DAY 17 Tending to final bliss—to stir Some life to better life, this pain Is needful : that I grant again. Did they at last in glory live, Satan and Judas69 might forgive The middle time of misery, Forgive the wrong creation first Or evolution’s iron key Did them—provided they are passed Beyond all change and pain at last Out of this universe accurst. But otherwise ! I lift my voice, Deliberately take my choice Promethean, eager to rejoice, In the grim protest’s joy to revel Betwixt Iscariot and the Devil, Throned in their midst ! No pain to feel, Tossed on some burning bed of steel, But theirs : my soul of love should swell And, on those piteous floors they trod, Feel, and make God feel, out of Hell, Across the gulf impassable, That He was damned and I was God ! Ay! Let him rise and answer me That false creative Deity, Whence came his right to rack the Earth With pangs of death,70 disease, and birth : No joy unmarred by pain and grief : Insult on injury heaped high In that quack-doctor infamy The Panacea of—Belief ! Only the selfish soul of man Could ever have conceived a plan Man only of all life to embrace, One planet of all stars to place Alone before the Father’s face ; Forgetful of creation’s stain, Forgetful of creation’s pain Not dumb !—forgetful of the pangs Whereby each life laments and hangs, (Now as I speak a lizard71 lies In wait for light-bewildered flies) 580 585 590 595 600 605 610 615 heaven suffers Hell’s pangs, owing to re- proaches of bard. Ethical and eloquent de- nunciation of Christian Cos- mogony.