Classic Poem

In the shade of the Castle elm-trees,
Under the College limes,
Wherever we state in deep debate
We said it a hundred times;

With hearts that beat together
At the glad defiance hurled
Against that Fear whose shadow drear
Chills an awakening world;

With a smile at the Saintly heaven,
And a sigh for the Priestly hell,
Together we stood to make it good,
However our fate befell,

That God is One for all living,
One God of His living and dead;
That Faith and Love have a crown above,
Whatever their creed, we said;

Whatever their creed or country,
Whatever their language or line,
Though a thousand Articles thundered
Against their Right divine.

The Challenge is come to a battle,
The flag of the Truth streams out;
Her soldiers,—a maniple,—muster,
Her enemies gather—a rout;

And Thou, who hadst loved to hurtle
A Lancelot of the fray,
To the side of the fewer and truer,
Ah me! art dead ere the day.

Dear voice! so clear and gentle,
Art still, for evermore?—
Kind hand, so fast and faithful,
Art cold—as never before?—

Still! cold!—by the Jumna river
Lie the bones of a murdered man;
We know not the slain from the slayers,
Our brother from Ali Khan.

—In the days of the bloody rebellion
Shot down, and left in his blood—
How should we?—the jackals took something,
And something the wolves of the wood.

And the impulse of human affections
That hunger to have what they love,
Moans over those blank recollections,
Whilst thou dost pity—above:

Dost pity us—splendidly seated
With the workmen of God who die;
Thy task done—ah! so early!
Thy wages won—oh, so high!

Thou seest the “whence” and the “whither,”
Most noble and happy Friend!
Thou watchest the strife of our lower life;
Oh, awful!—thou knowest its end.

I wait—I whisper no question
Whose answer is Death's to speak;
I know it is wise to be foolish,
I know it is strong to be weak:

And wise, to their own discomfort,
And bold for their fellows' sake
Meseems these Seven speak out under heaven;
And theirs is the side I take,—

The side we took when we sojourned
Under the Indian palms,
Watching, with Brahmans and Shastris,
These thought-storms breaking our calms.

Let break!—through Life's rough water,
Dear Friend!—more dear, being dead,
As we sailed, consorts, together,
So sail I alone to thee, Fred!

And under the Castle elm-trees,
In the shade of the College limes,
None sits in thy seat at deep debate;
I say by myself, at times,

That God is one God of all living,
Who maketh alive His dead,
That Hope and Love have a crown above,
I say,—as we often said,

Whatever their creed or country,
Whatever their language or line,
Though a thousand Articles thundered
Against their Right divine.