Forgiving trespasses and sins Lest Babylon with cruel Og, With moral and self-righteous law, Should crucify in Satan's synagogue. What are those golden builders doing Where Albion slept beneath the fatal tree, And the Druid's golden knife Rioted in human gore, In offerings of human life. They groan'd aloud on London stone, Albion's spectre from his loins Tore forth in all the pomp of war; Satan his name; in flames of fire He stretch'd his Druid pillars far. Jerusalem fell from Lambeth's vale, Down thro' Poplar and Old Bow; Thro' Malden and across the sea, In war and howling, death and woe. The Rhine was red with human blood; The Danube roll'd a purple tide: On the Euphrates Satan stood, And over Asia stretch'd his pride. He wither'd up sweet Zion's hill From every nation of the earth; He wither'd up Jerusalem's gates, And in a dark land gave her birth. He wither'd up the human form, By laws of sacrifice for sin; Till it became a mortal worm; But oh! translucent all within. The Divine vision still was seen, Still was the human form divine, Weeping in weak and mortal clayO Jesus, still the form was thine. And thine the human face, and thine The human hands and feet and breath, Entering thro' the gates of birth, And passing thro' the gates of death. And oh thou Lamb of God, whom I Slew in my dark self-righteous pride, Art thou return'd to Albion's land, And is Jerusalem thy bride? Come to my arms and never more Spectre of Albion! warlike fiend! Is this thy soft family-love, A man's worst enemies are those Of his own house and family; And he who makes his law a curse, By his own law shall surely die. In my Exchanges every land Shall walk, and mine in every land, Mutual shall build Jerusalem, Both heart in heart and hand in hand. I TO THE DEISTS. SAW a monk of Charlemagne I talk'd with the grey monk as we stood In beams of infernal light. Gibbon arose with a lash of steel, "Thou lazy monk!" they sound afar, The blood red ran from the grey monk's side, His body bent, his arms and knees When Satan first the black bow bent Titus! Constantine! Charlemagne ! For a Tear is an intellectual thing; And a Sigh is the sword of an Angel King; Is an arrow from the Almighty's bow. * This and the final stanza occur also in the poem entitled The Grey Monk (Vide anteà, pp. 143-144).—Ed. I TO THE CHRISTIANS. GIVE you the end of a golden string, It will lead you in at Heaven's gate England! awake, awake, awake! Why wilt thou sleep the sleep of death, Thy hills and valleys felt her feet And now the time returns again : In England's green and pleasant bowers. Each man is in his spectre's power And cast his spectre into the lake. |