Lonely is He, and His heart is a.s.sailed By the swift arrow He ventured to draw--

Head to the bow and the haft to the cord-- Arrow called "Judgment" and "Rod of His Might,"

Barbed with the vengeance and wrath of the Lord, Winged with the flame of an infinite Right!

Yea, Thou hast pity! and Man will forgive-- Man will forgive and Thine anger forget-- Man who hath learned in the dying, to live!

Open the books, for the judgment is set:

Was I to blame that Lazarus lurked Loathsome with sores at the banqueting hall, Vile in return for the labour he shirked, Begging for crumbs when the world was his all?

"The race to the swift," the proverb hath said; Fleet-footed I strove and won to the goal, Got me a palace, anointed my head, Unctioned my body and pleasured my soul--

Pleasured my soul that is tortured in h.e.l.l!

Unctioned my body that crumbles to dust!

Got me a palace whose pinnacles fell!

Gone are the garments to moth and to rust!

Dim are the depths of the gulf of my pain!

Memory burns! ... The fine linen! ... The feast!

Beautiful faces of souls I have slain!

Blood of the threatening prophet and priest!

Lazarus! thou like a dream in the night Ere one awaketh to find that the day Leaps on the hills in the joy of his might, Sings till the shadows are driven away!

Lazarus! thou like a G.o.d in his star Speeding through s.p.a.ce, and whose chariot wheels Thunder on pavements of crystal, and jar h.e.l.l's deep foundations! My spirit appeals,

Clamours and cries in protest of its pain, Rages and rails at the wreck and the wrong Done by Jehovah! Revenge is in vain; Hate hurls at Hate with a hate that is strong!

Lazarus, why art thou come unto me?

Stand like a star on a mountain of morn, Spirit redeemed by Jehovah's decree, And drink to the dregs of my chalice of scorn.

Bitter the chalice of Dives' disgrace!

Shudderest thou at the purple stained brim!

Drink! or I dash the cup full in thy face-- Drink! and then back to hosannah and hymn!

Fade from my sight! and thy glory withdraw Over the gulf to dim islands of palm, Where the Redeemed by the blood of the law Sing to the Lord on their harps, with a psalm!

Taunt me not, Lazarus, thou, and thy smile!

Pity or scorn I regard not! Away!

Is Paradise lonely that thou must beguile h.e.l.l with thy holiness! What does thou say?

Nay, thou are silent; why wilt thou not speak?

This is the torment: that never a word, Touch of a hand, or of lips on my cheek Cloud of Gehenna's death-stillness hath stirred.

Think of it, Lazarus! Thou wast alone; Down by the gate of my palace didst call: "Give of thy bread!" and I gave thee a stone!

Lazarus! Lazarus! I would give all--

I would give all, for I know thou didst crave Love, only love, who had no one to love; Even as I who have learned in the grave What I had missed in the earth-life above.

Life is in loving: and lonely is he Who hath not found in the flower and fern, Song of the bird and the hum of the bee, Voice and a prayer as of spirits that yearn

Upward forever to fellowship; strive Bravely for place in the legions of light; Dauntless of death in the tempest they thrive, Laugh and are glad of the foe and the fight.

This was my failure, who thought that the feast Rivalled the rapture of bird on the wing; Rivalled the lily all robed like a priest; Smoke of the pollen when rose-censers swing.

This was my folly, who gave for a gown-- Purple and gold, and a bracelet and rings, Shouts in the streets as I rode through the town-- Life in the love of the kinship of things.

Lazarus! Lazarus! This is my thirst, Fever from flame of the love I have missed; Ache of the heart for the friends I have cursed; Longing for lips that I never have kissed!

h.e.l.l is for him who hath never found G.o.d Hid in the bramble that burns by the way; Findeth Him not in the stone and the clod; Heareth Him not at the cool of the day.

h.e.l.l is for him who hath never found Man!

G.o.d and my Brother, I failing to find, Failed to find me; so my days were a span Void of the triumph of Spirit and Mind.

Once, I recall, at the table I leaned Back on the breast of Pomona, my slave, Saw through the window, with lattice-work screened, Thee in thy rags, and I laughed! then grew grave:

Up the white street came a Man with a face Sad with the woe and the pain of the world; Moving with kingliness, ease, and a grace; Crowned with wine-coloured hair wavy and curled

Over broad shoulders, so broad that I vowed Here was Messias--the Samson--the King!

Leaped from the table and joined with the crowd; Offered my purple, my bracelet, my ring!

Then through the clamour and dust of the street Words of rebuke were directed to me: "Lift thou up Lazarus; give him a seat High among all who are feasting with thee."

Lift up the beggar! I laughed at Him there-- "Thou and Thy tattered ones take to the street-- I to the palace ... Begone! ... And beware!

Caiaphas comes, and the Sanhedrin meet!

"Go! or I hale Thee to judgment of them; Go! or Thy G.o.d shall avail Thee in vain; Thou art of j.a.pheth, and I am of Shem Lazarus, outcast and cursed with Cain!

"Needs must there be a division of men; Hewer of wood is the Gibeonite, Cutter of stone in the quarries, and then Slave to the Covenant-Israelite."

"Nay, all are equal and loved of the Lord,"

Whispered the Stranger. The listening street, Filled with the murmur of those who adored, Hushed at the sound of His voice that was sweet,

Stirring my heart as a harp in the hall, Silent for ages, is stirred by the wind Breathed through the arras; and memories call Over the summits of spirit and mind.

Yea, for a moment I struggled with Love; Yearned to embrace thee and pour on thy hair Oil of anointing, and place thee above All of the guests who were gathering there--

There in my palace of pleasure and ease, Builded by Herod, and bought with my gold, Portaled and curtained with soft tapestries Woven at looms of the Orient, sold

Down in Damascus. A palm in the sands, That was my palace; a palm with a soul Breathing of beauty when each leaf expands Out to the desert which brims like a bowl--

Brims like a bowl of Falernian wine Turned to the sun! O my palace and hall!

O sound of the psaltery under the vine Grown in the garden! O footsteps that fall

Soft as the leaves in a pomegranate grove, Soft on the pavement of beryl and pearl Under the moon when my Miriam strove, Laughing, to dance down the Syrian girl!

These thrust between my compa.s.sion and thee-- Beauty that mocked like a maid from her bower-- Beauty that looked through the lattice at me; Sighed: "I have tarried, my Love, for this hour!"