RIMMON
Dulywith knees that feign to quake—Bent head and shaded brow,—Yet once again, for my father’s sake,In Rimmon’s House I bow.The curtains part, and the trumpet blares,And the eunuchs howl aloud;And the gilt, swag-bellied idol glaresInsolent over the crowd.‘This is Rimmon, Lord of the Earth—‘Fear Him and bow the knee!’And I watch my comrades hide their mirthThat rode to the wars with me.For we remember the sun and the sandAnd the rocks whereon we trod,Ere we came to a scorched and a scornful landThat did not know our God;As we remember the sacrificeDead men an hundred laid—Slain while they served His mysteriesAnd that He would not aid.Not though we gashed ourselves and wept,For the high-priest bade us wait;Saying He went on a journey or slept,Or was drunk or had taken a mate.(Praise ye Rimmon, King of Kings,Who ruleth Earth and Sky!And again I bow as the censer swingsAnd the God Enthroned goes by.)Ay, we remember His sacred arkAnd the virtuous men that kneltTo the dark and the hush behind the darkWherein we dreamed He dwelt;Until we entered to hale Him out,And found no more than an oldUncleanly image girded aboutThe loins with scarlet and gold.Him we o’erset with the butts of our spears—Him and His vast designs—To be the scorn of our muleteersAnd the jest of our halted lines.By the picket-pins that the dogs defile,In the dung and the dust He lay,Till the priests ran and chattered awhileAnd wiped Him and took Him away.Hushing the matter before it was known,They returned to our fathers afar,And hastily set Him afresh on His throneBecause He had won us the war.Wherefore with knees that feign to quake—Bent head and shaded brow—To this dead dog, for my father’s sake,In Rimmon’s House I bow.
Dulywith knees that feign to quake—Bent head and shaded brow,—Yet once again, for my father’s sake,In Rimmon’s House I bow.The curtains part, and the trumpet blares,And the eunuchs howl aloud;And the gilt, swag-bellied idol glaresInsolent over the crowd.‘This is Rimmon, Lord of the Earth—‘Fear Him and bow the knee!’And I watch my comrades hide their mirthThat rode to the wars with me.For we remember the sun and the sandAnd the rocks whereon we trod,Ere we came to a scorched and a scornful landThat did not know our God;As we remember the sacrificeDead men an hundred laid—Slain while they served His mysteriesAnd that He would not aid.Not though we gashed ourselves and wept,For the high-priest bade us wait;Saying He went on a journey or slept,Or was drunk or had taken a mate.(Praise ye Rimmon, King of Kings,Who ruleth Earth and Sky!And again I bow as the censer swingsAnd the God Enthroned goes by.)Ay, we remember His sacred arkAnd the virtuous men that kneltTo the dark and the hush behind the darkWherein we dreamed He dwelt;Until we entered to hale Him out,And found no more than an oldUncleanly image girded aboutThe loins with scarlet and gold.Him we o’erset with the butts of our spears—Him and His vast designs—To be the scorn of our muleteersAnd the jest of our halted lines.By the picket-pins that the dogs defile,In the dung and the dust He lay,Till the priests ran and chattered awhileAnd wiped Him and took Him away.Hushing the matter before it was known,They returned to our fathers afar,And hastily set Him afresh on His throneBecause He had won us the war.Wherefore with knees that feign to quake—Bent head and shaded brow—To this dead dog, for my father’s sake,In Rimmon’s House I bow.
Dulywith knees that feign to quake—Bent head and shaded brow,—Yet once again, for my father’s sake,In Rimmon’s House I bow.
The curtains part, and the trumpet blares,And the eunuchs howl aloud;And the gilt, swag-bellied idol glaresInsolent over the crowd.
‘This is Rimmon, Lord of the Earth—‘Fear Him and bow the knee!’And I watch my comrades hide their mirthThat rode to the wars with me.
For we remember the sun and the sandAnd the rocks whereon we trod,Ere we came to a scorched and a scornful landThat did not know our God;
As we remember the sacrificeDead men an hundred laid—Slain while they served His mysteriesAnd that He would not aid.
Not though we gashed ourselves and wept,For the high-priest bade us wait;Saying He went on a journey or slept,Or was drunk or had taken a mate.
(Praise ye Rimmon, King of Kings,Who ruleth Earth and Sky!And again I bow as the censer swingsAnd the God Enthroned goes by.)
Ay, we remember His sacred arkAnd the virtuous men that kneltTo the dark and the hush behind the darkWherein we dreamed He dwelt;
Until we entered to hale Him out,And found no more than an oldUncleanly image girded aboutThe loins with scarlet and gold.
Him we o’erset with the butts of our spears—Him and His vast designs—To be the scorn of our muleteersAnd the jest of our halted lines.
By the picket-pins that the dogs defile,In the dung and the dust He lay,Till the priests ran and chattered awhileAnd wiped Him and took Him away.
Hushing the matter before it was known,They returned to our fathers afar,And hastily set Him afresh on His throneBecause He had won us the war.
Wherefore with knees that feign to quake—Bent head and shaded brow—To this dead dog, for my father’s sake,In Rimmon’s House I bow.
Printed by T. and A.Constable, Printers to His Majestyat the Edinburgh University Press