Classic Poem

A fiction or a fact? an interview
Of Christ with His own prophets? or a blink
Of moonlight caught by dreaming eyes, that wink
And wonder, and report what is not true?
When will the impugners of the Gospel claims
The deep consistent likeness recognise
Between His woes and glories? Living ties
That bind in one His honours and His shames?
For all coheres; His pangs and triumphs touch
Each other, like the wings of Cherubim:
Strange was His Birth — His death and rising, such
As to bear out that strangeness — and as much
May well be said of dark Gethsemane,
That sternest link in the great unity.