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.