god

Carlyle

I.

" God does nothing!" sigh'd the Seer,
Sick of playing Prophet:
To his eyes the sun-flames clear
Seem'd the fumes of Tophet;
Off the King he tore his crown,
Stript the Priest of clothing,
Curst the world — then with a frown,
Murmur'd, " God does — nothing! "

II.

Bitter creed, and creedless cry
Of the soul despairing —
He who once on sea and sky
Saw the Portent flaring,
He who chose the thorny road,
Paths of pleasure loathing,
Crying loudly, " Great is God,
Only Man is nothing!"

A Song of Jubilee

I .

Ho, heirs of Saxon Alfred
And Caeur de Lion bold!
Mix'd breed of churls and belted earls
Who worshipped God of old;
Who harried East and harried West
And gather'd land and gold,
While from the lips of white-wing'd ships
Our battle-thunder rolled.!
With a hey! and a ho!
And a British three times three!
At the will of the Lord of the Cross and Sword
We swept from sea to sea!

II .

And lo, our mighty Empire
Rises like R OME of yore —
Another Rome, that feasts at home

Carmen Deific

CARMEN DEIFIC.

I .

Awake, awake, ye Nations, now the Lord of Hosts goes by!
Sing ye His praise, O happy souls, who smile beneath the sky!
Join in the song, O martyr'd ones, where'er ye droop and die!
The Lord goes marching on!

'Mid tramp and clangour of the winds and clash of clouds that meet,
He passeth on His way and treads the Lost beneath His feet;
His legions are the winged Storms that follow fast and fleet
Their Master marching on!

From battlefield to battlefield He wends in royal array,

Giant Despair

I.

His death.

Sad is the plight of Giant Despair,
In Doubting Castle sick lies he!
The castle is built on a headland bare,
And looks on the wash of a whirling Sea.

With the noise in his ears and the gleam in his eyes
Of the breaking waves that beneath him beat,
Propt on pillows the Giant lies,
Pillowed, too, are his gouty feet.

In and out the Leeches of Souls
Run and chatter and prate and pray —
But the great wind wails and the thunder rolls:
None may banish his gloom away.

Farm In The Valley — Sunset

Still the saintly City stands,
Wondrous work of busy hands;
Still the lonely City thrives,
Rich in worldly goods and wives,
And with thrust-out jaw and set
Teeth, the Yankee threatens yet —
Half admiring and half riled,
Oft by bigger schemes beguiled,
Turning off his curious stare
To communities elsewhere,
Always with unquiet eye
Watching Utah on the sly.

Long the City of the Plain
Left its image on my brain:
White kiosks and gardens bright
Rising in a golden light;
Busy figures everywhere

8 God Is Beautiful

Oh, Thou art beautiful! and Thou dost bestow
Thy beauty on this stillness — still as sheep
The Hills lie under Thee; the Waters deep
Murmur for joy of Thee; the voids below
Mirror Thy strange fair Vapours as they flow;
And now, afar upon the barren height,
Thou sendest down a radiant look of light
So that the still Peaks glisten, and a glow
Rose-colour'd tints the little snowy cloud
That poises on the highest peak of all.
Oh, Thou art beautiful! — the Hills are bowed
Beneath Thee; on Thy name the soft Winds call —

A Catechism

What is thy name?

ROBERT B UCHANAN .

Who

Gave thee that name?

Those from whose seed I grew,
He from whose loins I sprang, she in whose warm
Womb I grew shapen into flesh and form, —
Whereby I first did crawl, then walked upright
A child, inheritor of Life and Light.

What did thy Father and Mother then for thee?

Three things they swore: firstly, to shelter me
From all things evil, teaching me to find,
Through love for them, due love for all Mankind;

Ad Madonna

I .

If I could worship in these Shrines at all,
Methinks that 'twould be yonder, where I see
The Holy Mother fair and virginal
Holding the radiant Child upon her knee:
For Rome, eternal foe of all things free,
Still quick tho' stretch'd out cold 'neath Peter's pall,
By this one gift of grace redeems her fall
And makes amends to poor Humanity.
Madonna, pure as mortal mothers are,
Type of them all, for ever calm and good,
Over thy Son thou shinest like a star
While at thy milky breasts His mouth finds food ...

City of Dream, The - Book 2: Strangers and Pilgrims

And now my path was on a public road,
And where I walk'd methought the weary air
Was full of lamentations; for the sick
Lay on the roadside basking in the sun,
The leper with his sores, the paralysed
Moveless as stone, the halt and lame and blind,
And many beggars pluck'd me by the sleeve,
And when I fled shriek'd curses after me;
And my tears fell, and my knees knock'd together,
And I fled faster, crying: " That first curse
Still darkens all! Oh, City Beautiful,
Where art thou? — for these ways are sad to tread."