The Sword of Song

THE SWORD OF SONG 20 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 an anguished flesh and blood, A vulture on ill-omen wings, A cannibal74 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,75 Jeheshua (See thou Zohar !)76 And thus our formidable Pigeon-77 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—no 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, 705 710 715 720 725 730 735 740 Mystical mean-ing o f “Ascen-sion Day.” Futility of whole discus- sion, in view o f facts.