The Sword of Song

PENTECOST 39 But as for me I have a test Of better than the very best. Respice finem ! Judge the end ; The man, and not the child, my friend ! First ecstasy of Pentecost, (You now perceive my sermon’s text.) First leap to Sunward flings you vexed By glory of its own riposte Back to your mind. But gathering strength And never, you come (ah light !) at length To dwell awhile in the caress Of that strange super-consciousness. After one memory—O abide ! Vivid Savitri lightning-eyed !— Nothing is worth a thought beside. One hint of Amrita55 to taste And all earth’s wine may run to waste ! For by this very means Christ gained56 His glimpse into that world above Which he denominated “Love.” Indeed I think the man attained By some such means—I have not strained Out mind by chance of sense or sex To find a way less iron-brained Determining direction x;57 I know not if these Hindu methods Be best (’tis no such life and death odds, Since suffering souls to save or damn Never existed). So I fall Confessing : Well, perhance I am Myself a Christian after all ! So far at least. I must concede Christ did attain in every deed ; Yet, being an illiterate man, Not his to balance or to scan, To call God stupid or unjust ! He took the universe on trust : He reconciled the world below With that above ; rolled eloquence Steel-tired58 o’er reason’s “why?” and “whence?” Discarded all proportion just And thundered in our ears “I know,” And bellowed in our brains “ye must.” 675 680 685 690 695 700 705 710 Fifty years of Europe worth a cycle of Cathay. Method of Christ. The poet a Chris- tian. With reserva- tions. Deus in machinâ. Pon- tious Pilate as a Surry Magis- trate.