Everything! Counter and scales—I’ll take whatever you give.I’m through, and off to Athens,Where a man like me can live.And Hipparch, the baker, is going;My chum, who came with meTo follow the crowds who followThe prophet of Galilee.We two were there at DamascusDealing in figs and wine.Nice little business! Some oneSaid: “Here, I’ll give you a line!“Buy fish, and set up a booth,Get a tent and make your bread.There are thousands who come to listen,They are hungry and must be fed.”And so we went. Believe me,There were crowds, and hungry, too.Five thousand stood in the desertAnd listened the whole day through.Famished? Well, yes. The disciplesWere saying to send them awayTo buy their bread in the village,But the prophet went on to say:“Feed them yourselves, O youOf little faith.” But they said:“We have just five little fishesAnd two little loaves of bread.”We heard it, me and Hipparch,And rubbed our hands. You seeWe were there to make some moneyIn the land of Galilee.We had stock in plenty. We waited.I wiped the scales, and my chumRe-stacked the loaves. We bellowed,But no one seemed to come.“Fresh fish!” I bawled my lungs out:“Nice bread!” poor Hipparch cried,But what did they do? Sat down thereIn fifties, side by side,In ranks, the whole five thousand.Then—well, the prophet spoke,And broke the five little fishes,And the two little loaves he broke.And fed the whole five thousand.Why, yes! So gorged they slept.And we stood beaten and bankrupt.Poor Hipparch swore and wept.They gathered up twelve basketsFull from the loaves of bread;Five little fishes—twelve basketsOf fragments after they fed.And we—what was there to doBut dump our stock on the sand?That’s what we got for our laborAnd thrift, in such a land.We met a man near DamascusWho had joined the mystagogues.He said: “I was wicked as you menUntil I lost my hogs.”Now Hipparch and I are goingTo Athens, beautiful, free.No more adventures for us twoIn the land of Galilee.
Everything! Counter and scales—I’ll take whatever you give.I’m through, and off to Athens,Where a man like me can live.And Hipparch, the baker, is going;My chum, who came with meTo follow the crowds who followThe prophet of Galilee.We two were there at DamascusDealing in figs and wine.Nice little business! Some oneSaid: “Here, I’ll give you a line!“Buy fish, and set up a booth,Get a tent and make your bread.There are thousands who come to listen,They are hungry and must be fed.”And so we went. Believe me,There were crowds, and hungry, too.Five thousand stood in the desertAnd listened the whole day through.Famished? Well, yes. The disciplesWere saying to send them awayTo buy their bread in the village,But the prophet went on to say:“Feed them yourselves, O youOf little faith.” But they said:“We have just five little fishesAnd two little loaves of bread.”We heard it, me and Hipparch,And rubbed our hands. You seeWe were there to make some moneyIn the land of Galilee.We had stock in plenty. We waited.I wiped the scales, and my chumRe-stacked the loaves. We bellowed,But no one seemed to come.“Fresh fish!” I bawled my lungs out:“Nice bread!” poor Hipparch cried,But what did they do? Sat down thereIn fifties, side by side,In ranks, the whole five thousand.Then—well, the prophet spoke,And broke the five little fishes,And the two little loaves he broke.And fed the whole five thousand.Why, yes! So gorged they slept.And we stood beaten and bankrupt.Poor Hipparch swore and wept.They gathered up twelve basketsFull from the loaves of bread;Five little fishes—twelve basketsOf fragments after they fed.And we—what was there to doBut dump our stock on the sand?That’s what we got for our laborAnd thrift, in such a land.We met a man near DamascusWho had joined the mystagogues.He said: “I was wicked as you menUntil I lost my hogs.”Now Hipparch and I are goingTo Athens, beautiful, free.No more adventures for us twoIn the land of Galilee.
Everything! Counter and scales—I’ll take whatever you give.I’m through, and off to Athens,Where a man like me can live.
And Hipparch, the baker, is going;My chum, who came with meTo follow the crowds who followThe prophet of Galilee.
We two were there at DamascusDealing in figs and wine.Nice little business! Some oneSaid: “Here, I’ll give you a line!
“Buy fish, and set up a booth,Get a tent and make your bread.There are thousands who come to listen,They are hungry and must be fed.”
And so we went. Believe me,There were crowds, and hungry, too.Five thousand stood in the desertAnd listened the whole day through.
Famished? Well, yes. The disciplesWere saying to send them awayTo buy their bread in the village,But the prophet went on to say:
“Feed them yourselves, O youOf little faith.” But they said:“We have just five little fishesAnd two little loaves of bread.”
We heard it, me and Hipparch,And rubbed our hands. You seeWe were there to make some moneyIn the land of Galilee.
We had stock in plenty. We waited.I wiped the scales, and my chumRe-stacked the loaves. We bellowed,But no one seemed to come.
“Fresh fish!” I bawled my lungs out:“Nice bread!” poor Hipparch cried,But what did they do? Sat down thereIn fifties, side by side,In ranks, the whole five thousand.Then—well, the prophet spoke,And broke the five little fishes,And the two little loaves he broke.
And fed the whole five thousand.Why, yes! So gorged they slept.And we stood beaten and bankrupt.Poor Hipparch swore and wept.
They gathered up twelve basketsFull from the loaves of bread;Five little fishes—twelve basketsOf fragments after they fed.
And we—what was there to doBut dump our stock on the sand?That’s what we got for our laborAnd thrift, in such a land.
We met a man near DamascusWho had joined the mystagogues.He said: “I was wicked as you menUntil I lost my hogs.”
Now Hipparch and I are goingTo Athens, beautiful, free.No more adventures for us twoIn the land of Galilee.
With all of the rest of my troubles my fig tree’s withered and gone.It stood in the road, you know, I haven’t much of a lawn.I step from my door to a step, and from that right into the street.Just the same I sat under my tree, as a shade from the noonday heat.Camels came by and asses, caravans, footmen, too;Soldiers of Cæsar saw me and ate of my tree, nor drewAx nor sword to the branches, nor even a hack on the bole.Now what had I done or my tree? I call it an evil doleTo a tree that must rest as a man rests. Why last year what a crop!Figs all over the branches, from lower limb to top.The tree was resting this year, contenting itself with leaves,If magic comes of believing, beware the man who believes.If faith can remove a mountain, then faith, I say, beware.Some morn I’ll look toward Olivet and find it no longer there.These fellows can blast our vineyards, level our hills or remove.And what does it prove but faith, what other good does it prove?Nothing at all! Just magic, like Egypt’s cunning breed.And to do such things with faith the size of a mustard seed!What is there need of more? If you gave them faith as a pearThey would set Orion dancing around the paws of the Bear;Make the heavens fall on our heads, the whole world ruin and wreck;Slay us and our children, slave us, put the yoke on our neck;Smash cities to strengthen the village, have life just as they would.And make that evil which is not, make evil into a good.Anyway he came, he was hungry, and it was break of dawn.He ran to my tree expectant, saw nothing but leaves thereon.Then raged for the lack of figs, no grace for the years that it bore.And he said may no fruit grow hereon forevermore.With that my tree curled up like a leaf in a windy blaze.I was standing here on my step half blind in a sudden maze.Then he said: have faith and do what I have done to this tree,Or say to the mountains move and be cast into the sea.So now I have no shade at noon under leafy boughs,Why the tree was good for resting, cooler than in the house,If it never bore again, if the life is more than meatWhy not this tree for my dreams, though he found no figs to eat.But I swear it had borne next year, it was only taking a rest.There’s too many saints who are straining the world to a dream in the breast.Next year no figs for Cæsar, and none for myself, what’s worse,If this be the work of faith, then faith itself is a curse.
With all of the rest of my troubles my fig tree’s withered and gone.It stood in the road, you know, I haven’t much of a lawn.I step from my door to a step, and from that right into the street.Just the same I sat under my tree, as a shade from the noonday heat.Camels came by and asses, caravans, footmen, too;Soldiers of Cæsar saw me and ate of my tree, nor drewAx nor sword to the branches, nor even a hack on the bole.Now what had I done or my tree? I call it an evil doleTo a tree that must rest as a man rests. Why last year what a crop!Figs all over the branches, from lower limb to top.The tree was resting this year, contenting itself with leaves,If magic comes of believing, beware the man who believes.If faith can remove a mountain, then faith, I say, beware.Some morn I’ll look toward Olivet and find it no longer there.These fellows can blast our vineyards, level our hills or remove.And what does it prove but faith, what other good does it prove?Nothing at all! Just magic, like Egypt’s cunning breed.And to do such things with faith the size of a mustard seed!What is there need of more? If you gave them faith as a pearThey would set Orion dancing around the paws of the Bear;Make the heavens fall on our heads, the whole world ruin and wreck;Slay us and our children, slave us, put the yoke on our neck;Smash cities to strengthen the village, have life just as they would.And make that evil which is not, make evil into a good.Anyway he came, he was hungry, and it was break of dawn.He ran to my tree expectant, saw nothing but leaves thereon.Then raged for the lack of figs, no grace for the years that it bore.And he said may no fruit grow hereon forevermore.With that my tree curled up like a leaf in a windy blaze.I was standing here on my step half blind in a sudden maze.Then he said: have faith and do what I have done to this tree,Or say to the mountains move and be cast into the sea.So now I have no shade at noon under leafy boughs,Why the tree was good for resting, cooler than in the house,If it never bore again, if the life is more than meatWhy not this tree for my dreams, though he found no figs to eat.But I swear it had borne next year, it was only taking a rest.There’s too many saints who are straining the world to a dream in the breast.Next year no figs for Cæsar, and none for myself, what’s worse,If this be the work of faith, then faith itself is a curse.
With all of the rest of my troubles my fig tree’s withered and gone.It stood in the road, you know, I haven’t much of a lawn.I step from my door to a step, and from that right into the street.Just the same I sat under my tree, as a shade from the noonday heat.
Camels came by and asses, caravans, footmen, too;Soldiers of Cæsar saw me and ate of my tree, nor drewAx nor sword to the branches, nor even a hack on the bole.Now what had I done or my tree? I call it an evil dole
To a tree that must rest as a man rests. Why last year what a crop!Figs all over the branches, from lower limb to top.The tree was resting this year, contenting itself with leaves,If magic comes of believing, beware the man who believes.
If faith can remove a mountain, then faith, I say, beware.Some morn I’ll look toward Olivet and find it no longer there.These fellows can blast our vineyards, level our hills or remove.And what does it prove but faith, what other good does it prove?
Nothing at all! Just magic, like Egypt’s cunning breed.And to do such things with faith the size of a mustard seed!What is there need of more? If you gave them faith as a pearThey would set Orion dancing around the paws of the Bear;
Make the heavens fall on our heads, the whole world ruin and wreck;Slay us and our children, slave us, put the yoke on our neck;Smash cities to strengthen the village, have life just as they would.And make that evil which is not, make evil into a good.
Anyway he came, he was hungry, and it was break of dawn.He ran to my tree expectant, saw nothing but leaves thereon.Then raged for the lack of figs, no grace for the years that it bore.And he said may no fruit grow hereon forevermore.
With that my tree curled up like a leaf in a windy blaze.I was standing here on my step half blind in a sudden maze.Then he said: have faith and do what I have done to this tree,Or say to the mountains move and be cast into the sea.
So now I have no shade at noon under leafy boughs,Why the tree was good for resting, cooler than in the house,If it never bore again, if the life is more than meatWhy not this tree for my dreams, though he found no figs to eat.
But I swear it had borne next year, it was only taking a rest.There’s too many saints who are straining the world to a dream in the breast.Next year no figs for Cæsar, and none for myself, what’s worse,If this be the work of faith, then faith itself is a curse.
This is all of the storyCapernaum stood in the way,The takers of tribute came:“Does your master tribute pay?”And Peter ran to Jesus,And Jesus answered him: “Nay!Do the kings of the earth have tributeFrom their own children, pray?“Or do they get it of strangers?”And Peter answered him: “Yea.”Then Jesus said: “This is Galilee,Should Galileans pay?“But yet lest we offend themThere’s a fish out there in the bayWith a silver coin in his mouth—Go catch the fish and pay.”Did Jesus mean to mockThe tariff laws of the day:That Peter could catch the fishAs likely as he would pay?Did he mean to resist or yieldIf Peter was lucky that day?I, Matthew, tell you no more,And Mark and Luke don’t say.Did we enter the gate, or sitWhere the rocks and olives are gray?Right then there was better matterFor a follower to portray.The multitude gathered. He calledA child to him from its play,And set the child in our midst;And then he began to say:—“This is the kingdom of heaven.”And he took its hand and smiled.“The kingdom of heaven,” he said,“Is like the heart of a child.”And I say, if this be true,The Kingdom is surely defiledBy laws, and tariffs and kingsUnknown to the heart of a child.
This is all of the storyCapernaum stood in the way,The takers of tribute came:“Does your master tribute pay?”And Peter ran to Jesus,And Jesus answered him: “Nay!Do the kings of the earth have tributeFrom their own children, pray?“Or do they get it of strangers?”And Peter answered him: “Yea.”Then Jesus said: “This is Galilee,Should Galileans pay?“But yet lest we offend themThere’s a fish out there in the bayWith a silver coin in his mouth—Go catch the fish and pay.”Did Jesus mean to mockThe tariff laws of the day:That Peter could catch the fishAs likely as he would pay?Did he mean to resist or yieldIf Peter was lucky that day?I, Matthew, tell you no more,And Mark and Luke don’t say.Did we enter the gate, or sitWhere the rocks and olives are gray?Right then there was better matterFor a follower to portray.The multitude gathered. He calledA child to him from its play,And set the child in our midst;And then he began to say:—“This is the kingdom of heaven.”And he took its hand and smiled.“The kingdom of heaven,” he said,“Is like the heart of a child.”And I say, if this be true,The Kingdom is surely defiledBy laws, and tariffs and kingsUnknown to the heart of a child.
This is all of the storyCapernaum stood in the way,The takers of tribute came:“Does your master tribute pay?”
And Peter ran to Jesus,And Jesus answered him: “Nay!Do the kings of the earth have tributeFrom their own children, pray?
“Or do they get it of strangers?”And Peter answered him: “Yea.”Then Jesus said: “This is Galilee,Should Galileans pay?
“But yet lest we offend themThere’s a fish out there in the bayWith a silver coin in his mouth—Go catch the fish and pay.”
Did Jesus mean to mockThe tariff laws of the day:That Peter could catch the fishAs likely as he would pay?
Did he mean to resist or yieldIf Peter was lucky that day?I, Matthew, tell you no more,And Mark and Luke don’t say.
Did we enter the gate, or sitWhere the rocks and olives are gray?Right then there was better matterFor a follower to portray.
The multitude gathered. He calledA child to him from its play,And set the child in our midst;And then he began to say:—
“This is the kingdom of heaven.”And he took its hand and smiled.“The kingdom of heaven,” he said,“Is like the heart of a child.”
And I say, if this be true,The Kingdom is surely defiledBy laws, and tariffs and kingsUnknown to the heart of a child.
Philo, the worst has come,All we foresaw and feared:Delphos will soon be dumb,Eleusis felled and cleared.Not only Marduk and BelShamash, Nana, and SinAre doomed to be swallowed. Rebel?It is too late to begin.They have worked for this merger for years;They have bullied, lied and coerced.They have played with curses and tears.And now at last is the worst:For Zeus goes into the bowlOf Cyclops, thoroughly blended.The brew is Jehovah, a SoulEnvious, sour, commendedAnd forced to our lips. His sonAnd another, the Holy Ghost,Are mixed with him, there is noneNot stirred in the mixture and lostOf the gods we loved. They sayThere is only one god, not many.Well, who knows, we of clay,If there be a thousand, or any?They say there is one—all right!They take over all the rest.And so there is one, we can fight,Argue, pray and protest;Set up a booth to Apollo,Athene; bawl and persuade.The crowds no longer follow—Jehovah has got the trade.For the Jews have used the schemeOf commerce for making a god:A harbor where no triremeBut their own can dock or load.Now who will come to dissolveThis theo-monopoly?And the power they took devolveOn a mightier deity?It will come. But as for Zeus,Osiris, Ptah, Zoroaster,They are stewed in the dominant juiceOf Jehovah, lord and master.We accept the fate. We laugh.The earth, the sea and the skyAre at last the cenotaphOf gods, who always die.
Philo, the worst has come,All we foresaw and feared:Delphos will soon be dumb,Eleusis felled and cleared.Not only Marduk and BelShamash, Nana, and SinAre doomed to be swallowed. Rebel?It is too late to begin.They have worked for this merger for years;They have bullied, lied and coerced.They have played with curses and tears.And now at last is the worst:For Zeus goes into the bowlOf Cyclops, thoroughly blended.The brew is Jehovah, a SoulEnvious, sour, commendedAnd forced to our lips. His sonAnd another, the Holy Ghost,Are mixed with him, there is noneNot stirred in the mixture and lostOf the gods we loved. They sayThere is only one god, not many.Well, who knows, we of clay,If there be a thousand, or any?They say there is one—all right!They take over all the rest.And so there is one, we can fight,Argue, pray and protest;Set up a booth to Apollo,Athene; bawl and persuade.The crowds no longer follow—Jehovah has got the trade.For the Jews have used the schemeOf commerce for making a god:A harbor where no triremeBut their own can dock or load.Now who will come to dissolveThis theo-monopoly?And the power they took devolveOn a mightier deity?It will come. But as for Zeus,Osiris, Ptah, Zoroaster,They are stewed in the dominant juiceOf Jehovah, lord and master.We accept the fate. We laugh.The earth, the sea and the skyAre at last the cenotaphOf gods, who always die.
Philo, the worst has come,All we foresaw and feared:Delphos will soon be dumb,Eleusis felled and cleared.
Not only Marduk and BelShamash, Nana, and SinAre doomed to be swallowed. Rebel?It is too late to begin.
They have worked for this merger for years;They have bullied, lied and coerced.They have played with curses and tears.And now at last is the worst:
For Zeus goes into the bowlOf Cyclops, thoroughly blended.The brew is Jehovah, a SoulEnvious, sour, commended
And forced to our lips. His sonAnd another, the Holy Ghost,Are mixed with him, there is noneNot stirred in the mixture and lost
Of the gods we loved. They sayThere is only one god, not many.Well, who knows, we of clay,If there be a thousand, or any?
They say there is one—all right!They take over all the rest.And so there is one, we can fight,Argue, pray and protest;
Set up a booth to Apollo,Athene; bawl and persuade.The crowds no longer follow—Jehovah has got the trade.
For the Jews have used the schemeOf commerce for making a god:A harbor where no triremeBut their own can dock or load.
Now who will come to dissolveThis theo-monopoly?And the power they took devolveOn a mightier deity?
It will come. But as for Zeus,Osiris, Ptah, Zoroaster,They are stewed in the dominant juiceOf Jehovah, lord and master.
We accept the fate. We laugh.The earth, the sea and the skyAre at last the cenotaphOf gods, who always die.
I am a farmer and liveTwo miles from Decapolis.Where is the magistrate? Tell meWhere the magistrate is!Here I had made provisionFor children and wife,And now I have lost my all;I am ruined for life.I, a believer, too,In the synagogues,—What is the faith to me?I have lost my hogs.Two thousand hogs as fineAs ever you saw,Drowned and choked in the sea—I want the law!They were feeding upon a hillWhen a strolling teacherCame by and scared my hogs—They say he’s a preacher,And cures the possessed who hauntThe tombs and bogs.All right; but why send devilsInto my hogs?They squealed and grunted and ranAnd plunged in the sea.And the lunatic laughed who was healed,Of the devils free.Devils or fright, no matterA fig or a straw.Where is the magistrate, tell me—I want the law!
I am a farmer and liveTwo miles from Decapolis.Where is the magistrate? Tell meWhere the magistrate is!Here I had made provisionFor children and wife,And now I have lost my all;I am ruined for life.I, a believer, too,In the synagogues,—What is the faith to me?I have lost my hogs.Two thousand hogs as fineAs ever you saw,Drowned and choked in the sea—I want the law!They were feeding upon a hillWhen a strolling teacherCame by and scared my hogs—They say he’s a preacher,And cures the possessed who hauntThe tombs and bogs.All right; but why send devilsInto my hogs?They squealed and grunted and ranAnd plunged in the sea.And the lunatic laughed who was healed,Of the devils free.Devils or fright, no matterA fig or a straw.Where is the magistrate, tell me—I want the law!
I am a farmer and liveTwo miles from Decapolis.Where is the magistrate? Tell meWhere the magistrate is!
Here I had made provisionFor children and wife,And now I have lost my all;I am ruined for life.
I, a believer, too,In the synagogues,—What is the faith to me?I have lost my hogs.
Two thousand hogs as fineAs ever you saw,Drowned and choked in the sea—I want the law!
They were feeding upon a hillWhen a strolling teacherCame by and scared my hogs—They say he’s a preacher,
And cures the possessed who hauntThe tombs and bogs.All right; but why send devilsInto my hogs?
They squealed and grunted and ranAnd plunged in the sea.And the lunatic laughed who was healed,Of the devils free.
Devils or fright, no matterA fig or a straw.Where is the magistrate, tell me—I want the law!
Ahaz, there in the seat of judgment, hear,If you have wit to understand my plea.Swine-devils are too much for swine, that’s clear.Poor man possessed of such is partly free.Is neither drowned, destroyed at once, his chainsMay pluck while running, howling through the mireAnd take a little gladness for his pains,Some fury for unsatisfied desire.But hogs go mad at once. All this I knew,—But then this lunatic had rights. You grantSwine-devils had him in their clutch and drewHis baffled spirit. How significant,As they were legion and so named! The pointIs, life bewildered, torn in greed and wrath;—Desire puts a spirit out of joint.Swine-devils are for swine who have no path.But man with many lusts, what is his way,Save in confusion, through accustomed rooms?He prays for night to come, and for the dayAmid the miry places and the tombs.But hogs run to the sea. And there’s an end.Would I might cast the swinish demons outFrom man forever. Yet the word attend.The lesson of the thing what soul can doubt?What is the loss of hogs, if man be saved?What loss of lands and houses, man being free?Clothed in his reason sits the man who raved,Clean and at peace, your honor. Come and see.Your honor shakes a frowning head. Not loth,Speaking more plainly, deeper truth to draw;Do your judicial duty, yet I clotheFree souls with courage to transgress the law.By casting demons out from self, or thoseLike this poor lunatic whom your synagoguesWould leave to battle singly with his woes—What is a man’s soul to a drove of hogs?Which being lost, men play the hypocriteAnd make the owner chief in the affair.You banish me for witchcraft. I submit.Work of this kind awaits me everywhere.And into swine where better they belong,Casting the swinish devils out of men,The devils have their place at last, and thenThe man is healed who had them—where’s the wrong,Save to the owner? Well, your synagoguesMake the split hoof and chewing of the cudThe test of lawful flesh. Not so are hogs.This rule has been the statute since the flood.Ahaz, your judgment has a fatal flaw.Is it not so with judges first and last—You break the law to specialize the law?—This is the devil that from you I cast.
Ahaz, there in the seat of judgment, hear,If you have wit to understand my plea.Swine-devils are too much for swine, that’s clear.Poor man possessed of such is partly free.Is neither drowned, destroyed at once, his chainsMay pluck while running, howling through the mireAnd take a little gladness for his pains,Some fury for unsatisfied desire.But hogs go mad at once. All this I knew,—But then this lunatic had rights. You grantSwine-devils had him in their clutch and drewHis baffled spirit. How significant,As they were legion and so named! The pointIs, life bewildered, torn in greed and wrath;—Desire puts a spirit out of joint.Swine-devils are for swine who have no path.But man with many lusts, what is his way,Save in confusion, through accustomed rooms?He prays for night to come, and for the dayAmid the miry places and the tombs.But hogs run to the sea. And there’s an end.Would I might cast the swinish demons outFrom man forever. Yet the word attend.The lesson of the thing what soul can doubt?What is the loss of hogs, if man be saved?What loss of lands and houses, man being free?Clothed in his reason sits the man who raved,Clean and at peace, your honor. Come and see.Your honor shakes a frowning head. Not loth,Speaking more plainly, deeper truth to draw;Do your judicial duty, yet I clotheFree souls with courage to transgress the law.By casting demons out from self, or thoseLike this poor lunatic whom your synagoguesWould leave to battle singly with his woes—What is a man’s soul to a drove of hogs?Which being lost, men play the hypocriteAnd make the owner chief in the affair.You banish me for witchcraft. I submit.Work of this kind awaits me everywhere.And into swine where better they belong,Casting the swinish devils out of men,The devils have their place at last, and thenThe man is healed who had them—where’s the wrong,Save to the owner? Well, your synagoguesMake the split hoof and chewing of the cudThe test of lawful flesh. Not so are hogs.This rule has been the statute since the flood.Ahaz, your judgment has a fatal flaw.Is it not so with judges first and last—You break the law to specialize the law?—This is the devil that from you I cast.
Ahaz, there in the seat of judgment, hear,If you have wit to understand my plea.Swine-devils are too much for swine, that’s clear.Poor man possessed of such is partly free.
Is neither drowned, destroyed at once, his chainsMay pluck while running, howling through the mireAnd take a little gladness for his pains,Some fury for unsatisfied desire.
But hogs go mad at once. All this I knew,—But then this lunatic had rights. You grantSwine-devils had him in their clutch and drewHis baffled spirit. How significant,
As they were legion and so named! The pointIs, life bewildered, torn in greed and wrath;—Desire puts a spirit out of joint.Swine-devils are for swine who have no path.
But man with many lusts, what is his way,Save in confusion, through accustomed rooms?He prays for night to come, and for the dayAmid the miry places and the tombs.
But hogs run to the sea. And there’s an end.Would I might cast the swinish demons outFrom man forever. Yet the word attend.The lesson of the thing what soul can doubt?
What is the loss of hogs, if man be saved?What loss of lands and houses, man being free?Clothed in his reason sits the man who raved,Clean and at peace, your honor. Come and see.
Your honor shakes a frowning head. Not loth,Speaking more plainly, deeper truth to draw;Do your judicial duty, yet I clotheFree souls with courage to transgress the law.
By casting demons out from self, or thoseLike this poor lunatic whom your synagoguesWould leave to battle singly with his woes—What is a man’s soul to a drove of hogs?
Which being lost, men play the hypocriteAnd make the owner chief in the affair.You banish me for witchcraft. I submit.Work of this kind awaits me everywhere.
And into swine where better they belong,Casting the swinish devils out of men,The devils have their place at last, and thenThe man is healed who had them—where’s the wrong,
Save to the owner? Well, your synagoguesMake the split hoof and chewing of the cudThe test of lawful flesh. Not so are hogs.This rule has been the statute since the flood.
Ahaz, your judgment has a fatal flaw.Is it not so with judges first and last—You break the law to specialize the law?—This is the devil that from you I cast.
It was known through Judea, we knew it:—That Joseph beguiledBy mercy for Mary espoused,And already with child,Before they had come to each other,Would put her awayIn secret, before the SanhedrinCould summon, array,The witnesses, judge her and make herA noise and a shame—We knew this, and what would he doIf the case were the sameAs his father believed was the caseWith his mother? would he,A prophet, fulfill all the law,Or let her go free?—This Sarah, you know, that I caught,Was a witness and saw.Now what would he do, shade away,Or judge by the law?For Moses decreed if a womanWho is married shall lieWith a man, whether wedded or not,The woman shall dieWith the man in a volley of stones;And Moses decreedIf a virgin already betrothedShall lust in the deedWith a man not the bridegroom, and whetherThe man shall be wed,The people shall stone them with stonesUntil they be dead.Now mark you, how equal the lawOf weight and of span:One law for the woman in sin,The same for the man.If Moses be still the law-giver,By nothing dethroned,And this be the law, then this SarahWas fit to be stoned.And if it be true, as he says,That he came to fulfillThe law, nor destroy it, why thenWe thought he would willThe death of this woman we tookIn adultery, yes in the act,So we argued together beforehandThe law and the fact.Now the case was this way: this JosiahLate journeyed from Tyre,Three wives to his household already,Yet alive with desire,And free by our custom and lawTo add to his hearthA fourth for the heirs to his house,And for comfort and mirth,Came back in the cause of a fieldHe had bought; as it chancedMet up with this Sarah, a wife,They feasted and danced,Her spouse being absent, what’s moreIn Egypt for good.So Josiah and Sarah were foundIn the act in the wood.We brought her before him, accused,And told him the case.He stooped, as it seemed, to concealA blush on his face,And wrote in the sand, as we stoodAnd pressed him he wrote:“Anise” and “cummin” and “gnat”And “Moses” and “mote.”We cried all the more, he upliftedHimself, said: “BeginYour throwing of stones, let the firstBe him without sin.”So there I was caught, for he knew—Like wheat from the scytheWe shrank—I was guilty of sin,I had failed in my titheOf anise. But why have clean handsTo work at our smudges?And how will you ever stop sinIf you ask of the judgesTo be without sin ere they punishA matter of lust?I call this a ruling where moralsFall down in the dust.The most of us left then. He asked her:“Does no man condemn?Nor do I.” And so he made oneWith me and with them.So here in a sense was the worldSpiritual, civil,Prophet and Pharisee, judgeLeagued up with the devil.For what did it matter to sayTo go and no moreSin as she had, if the sinWould fare as before?It followed that Sarah went free,And Josiah the man.One standard for both is the rule,And the modern plan.What’s that? Why to sin if you wish—For what is a sinIf no stones are hurled for the lackOf a man to begin?And so it all ended. This SarahWas given a bill.She married Josiah, they say,And lives with him still.
It was known through Judea, we knew it:—That Joseph beguiledBy mercy for Mary espoused,And already with child,Before they had come to each other,Would put her awayIn secret, before the SanhedrinCould summon, array,The witnesses, judge her and make herA noise and a shame—We knew this, and what would he doIf the case were the sameAs his father believed was the caseWith his mother? would he,A prophet, fulfill all the law,Or let her go free?—This Sarah, you know, that I caught,Was a witness and saw.Now what would he do, shade away,Or judge by the law?For Moses decreed if a womanWho is married shall lieWith a man, whether wedded or not,The woman shall dieWith the man in a volley of stones;And Moses decreedIf a virgin already betrothedShall lust in the deedWith a man not the bridegroom, and whetherThe man shall be wed,The people shall stone them with stonesUntil they be dead.Now mark you, how equal the lawOf weight and of span:One law for the woman in sin,The same for the man.If Moses be still the law-giver,By nothing dethroned,And this be the law, then this SarahWas fit to be stoned.And if it be true, as he says,That he came to fulfillThe law, nor destroy it, why thenWe thought he would willThe death of this woman we tookIn adultery, yes in the act,So we argued together beforehandThe law and the fact.Now the case was this way: this JosiahLate journeyed from Tyre,Three wives to his household already,Yet alive with desire,And free by our custom and lawTo add to his hearthA fourth for the heirs to his house,And for comfort and mirth,Came back in the cause of a fieldHe had bought; as it chancedMet up with this Sarah, a wife,They feasted and danced,Her spouse being absent, what’s moreIn Egypt for good.So Josiah and Sarah were foundIn the act in the wood.We brought her before him, accused,And told him the case.He stooped, as it seemed, to concealA blush on his face,And wrote in the sand, as we stoodAnd pressed him he wrote:“Anise” and “cummin” and “gnat”And “Moses” and “mote.”We cried all the more, he upliftedHimself, said: “BeginYour throwing of stones, let the firstBe him without sin.”So there I was caught, for he knew—Like wheat from the scytheWe shrank—I was guilty of sin,I had failed in my titheOf anise. But why have clean handsTo work at our smudges?And how will you ever stop sinIf you ask of the judgesTo be without sin ere they punishA matter of lust?I call this a ruling where moralsFall down in the dust.The most of us left then. He asked her:“Does no man condemn?Nor do I.” And so he made oneWith me and with them.So here in a sense was the worldSpiritual, civil,Prophet and Pharisee, judgeLeagued up with the devil.For what did it matter to sayTo go and no moreSin as she had, if the sinWould fare as before?It followed that Sarah went free,And Josiah the man.One standard for both is the rule,And the modern plan.What’s that? Why to sin if you wish—For what is a sinIf no stones are hurled for the lackOf a man to begin?And so it all ended. This SarahWas given a bill.She married Josiah, they say,And lives with him still.
It was known through Judea, we knew it:—That Joseph beguiledBy mercy for Mary espoused,And already with child,
Before they had come to each other,Would put her awayIn secret, before the SanhedrinCould summon, array,
The witnesses, judge her and make herA noise and a shame—We knew this, and what would he doIf the case were the same
As his father believed was the caseWith his mother? would he,A prophet, fulfill all the law,Or let her go free?—
This Sarah, you know, that I caught,Was a witness and saw.Now what would he do, shade away,Or judge by the law?
For Moses decreed if a womanWho is married shall lieWith a man, whether wedded or not,The woman shall die
With the man in a volley of stones;And Moses decreedIf a virgin already betrothedShall lust in the deed
With a man not the bridegroom, and whetherThe man shall be wed,The people shall stone them with stonesUntil they be dead.
Now mark you, how equal the lawOf weight and of span:One law for the woman in sin,The same for the man.
If Moses be still the law-giver,By nothing dethroned,And this be the law, then this SarahWas fit to be stoned.
And if it be true, as he says,That he came to fulfillThe law, nor destroy it, why thenWe thought he would willThe death of this woman we tookIn adultery, yes in the act,So we argued together beforehandThe law and the fact.
Now the case was this way: this JosiahLate journeyed from Tyre,Three wives to his household already,Yet alive with desire,
And free by our custom and lawTo add to his hearthA fourth for the heirs to his house,And for comfort and mirth,
Came back in the cause of a fieldHe had bought; as it chancedMet up with this Sarah, a wife,They feasted and danced,
Her spouse being absent, what’s moreIn Egypt for good.So Josiah and Sarah were foundIn the act in the wood.
We brought her before him, accused,And told him the case.He stooped, as it seemed, to concealA blush on his face,And wrote in the sand, as we stoodAnd pressed him he wrote:“Anise” and “cummin” and “gnat”And “Moses” and “mote.”
We cried all the more, he upliftedHimself, said: “BeginYour throwing of stones, let the firstBe him without sin.”
So there I was caught, for he knew—Like wheat from the scytheWe shrank—I was guilty of sin,I had failed in my tithe
Of anise. But why have clean handsTo work at our smudges?And how will you ever stop sinIf you ask of the judges
To be without sin ere they punishA matter of lust?I call this a ruling where moralsFall down in the dust.
The most of us left then. He asked her:“Does no man condemn?Nor do I.” And so he made oneWith me and with them.
So here in a sense was the worldSpiritual, civil,Prophet and Pharisee, judgeLeagued up with the devil.
For what did it matter to sayTo go and no moreSin as she had, if the sinWould fare as before?
It followed that Sarah went free,And Josiah the man.One standard for both is the rule,And the modern plan.
What’s that? Why to sin if you wish—For what is a sinIf no stones are hurled for the lackOf a man to begin?
And so it all ended. This SarahWas given a bill.She married Josiah, they say,And lives with him still.
We know the game of lawyer and priest;We know the cunning of Pharisee, Scribe;We know the malice of soldier, jailer;—Hearts of those who abstain, imbibe.And when we saw a God-mad foolLike John the Baptist who cursed and grievedFor the hate of the elders, the harlot’s sorrowWe listened to him and we believed.We know we are wronged, he voiced it for us;We know we are mocked, he gave us placeWith the children of grief, the simple hearted,The broken spirits deserving grace.He knew men use us and throw us away.He knew we give and the gift is loathed.We are the givers to men who scourge us,Drive us to darkness, cold, unclothed.And when he said: “Behold he is thereWhose latchet I am unworthy to loose,”Jesus took us, the humble hearted,The broken vessels that none will use.And we believed again, and sawA youth who loved us without desire;Feasting, drinking with us the harlots,Outcasts, sinners, wrecks of the fire.These were our brothers: John the Baptist,Jesus of Nazareth. Brothers I say.Brothers and sisters bound in the serviceOf giving comfort and pity away.Pity and solace and hope of heaven,Healing and tenderness came of Christ.And we, the harlots, have given pityAnd given delight to men who enticedThis little gift, so easy to give;This wonder gift to them, as they said.That is the passion that moves a womanBefore it becomes a matter of bread.Before the lashes of scorn and the chains,The dungeons, before the scowls and sneers;Before the wrath of the priest, the temple’sBolted door for our hunger, tears.Before the delight we sell is staleAs the steps of a dancer, growing old.All is delight, kisses and dancing—Men can buy, for they have the gold.And we, he says, shall enter heavenBefore the priests and the elders do.Why do we enter? Because as sorrow,Poverty, humbleness, we are true.Without pretense or pride. We are childrenWho have shirked the task, but repent the sin.But they, the elders and priests have promisedTo work for heaven and never begin.Why do we enter, save spite of our craftTo wheedle with lies we all stand forthKnown to the world as painted harlots,Taken by no one over our worth?And it’s good to enter, if we can beWith Jesus and John, and given reprieveFrom priests and elders who run the cityAnd hound the harlots who see and believe.
We know the game of lawyer and priest;We know the cunning of Pharisee, Scribe;We know the malice of soldier, jailer;—Hearts of those who abstain, imbibe.And when we saw a God-mad foolLike John the Baptist who cursed and grievedFor the hate of the elders, the harlot’s sorrowWe listened to him and we believed.We know we are wronged, he voiced it for us;We know we are mocked, he gave us placeWith the children of grief, the simple hearted,The broken spirits deserving grace.He knew men use us and throw us away.He knew we give and the gift is loathed.We are the givers to men who scourge us,Drive us to darkness, cold, unclothed.And when he said: “Behold he is thereWhose latchet I am unworthy to loose,”Jesus took us, the humble hearted,The broken vessels that none will use.And we believed again, and sawA youth who loved us without desire;Feasting, drinking with us the harlots,Outcasts, sinners, wrecks of the fire.These were our brothers: John the Baptist,Jesus of Nazareth. Brothers I say.Brothers and sisters bound in the serviceOf giving comfort and pity away.Pity and solace and hope of heaven,Healing and tenderness came of Christ.And we, the harlots, have given pityAnd given delight to men who enticedThis little gift, so easy to give;This wonder gift to them, as they said.That is the passion that moves a womanBefore it becomes a matter of bread.Before the lashes of scorn and the chains,The dungeons, before the scowls and sneers;Before the wrath of the priest, the temple’sBolted door for our hunger, tears.Before the delight we sell is staleAs the steps of a dancer, growing old.All is delight, kisses and dancing—Men can buy, for they have the gold.And we, he says, shall enter heavenBefore the priests and the elders do.Why do we enter? Because as sorrow,Poverty, humbleness, we are true.Without pretense or pride. We are childrenWho have shirked the task, but repent the sin.But they, the elders and priests have promisedTo work for heaven and never begin.Why do we enter, save spite of our craftTo wheedle with lies we all stand forthKnown to the world as painted harlots,Taken by no one over our worth?And it’s good to enter, if we can beWith Jesus and John, and given reprieveFrom priests and elders who run the cityAnd hound the harlots who see and believe.
We know the game of lawyer and priest;We know the cunning of Pharisee, Scribe;We know the malice of soldier, jailer;—Hearts of those who abstain, imbibe.
And when we saw a God-mad foolLike John the Baptist who cursed and grievedFor the hate of the elders, the harlot’s sorrowWe listened to him and we believed.
We know we are wronged, he voiced it for us;We know we are mocked, he gave us placeWith the children of grief, the simple hearted,The broken spirits deserving grace.
He knew men use us and throw us away.He knew we give and the gift is loathed.We are the givers to men who scourge us,Drive us to darkness, cold, unclothed.
And when he said: “Behold he is thereWhose latchet I am unworthy to loose,”Jesus took us, the humble hearted,The broken vessels that none will use.
And we believed again, and sawA youth who loved us without desire;Feasting, drinking with us the harlots,Outcasts, sinners, wrecks of the fire.
These were our brothers: John the Baptist,Jesus of Nazareth. Brothers I say.Brothers and sisters bound in the serviceOf giving comfort and pity away.
Pity and solace and hope of heaven,Healing and tenderness came of Christ.And we, the harlots, have given pityAnd given delight to men who enticed
This little gift, so easy to give;This wonder gift to them, as they said.That is the passion that moves a womanBefore it becomes a matter of bread.
Before the lashes of scorn and the chains,The dungeons, before the scowls and sneers;Before the wrath of the priest, the temple’sBolted door for our hunger, tears.
Before the delight we sell is staleAs the steps of a dancer, growing old.All is delight, kisses and dancing—Men can buy, for they have the gold.
And we, he says, shall enter heavenBefore the priests and the elders do.Why do we enter? Because as sorrow,Poverty, humbleness, we are true.
Without pretense or pride. We are childrenWho have shirked the task, but repent the sin.But they, the elders and priests have promisedTo work for heaven and never begin.
Why do we enter, save spite of our craftTo wheedle with lies we all stand forthKnown to the world as painted harlots,Taken by no one over our worth?
And it’s good to enter, if we can beWith Jesus and John, and given reprieveFrom priests and elders who run the cityAnd hound the harlots who see and believe.
John said to the jailer: “Where are my disciples? BefriendMy grief and my doubt, and entreat them to come, to the endThat they ask him for me if we look for another, or deem,As I did, that this prophet shall save and fulfill and redeem.”And the jailer replied: “Since the wrath of King Herod a dishYour head shall contain by to-morrow, I give you your wish.”So he brought the disciples to John and the two of them ledTo the cell where he sat, and John to the two of them said:—“At this end of my life and my hopes, at the door of my doomGo ask him for me and report: is it he that should come,Or shall we yet look for another?” Amazed were the twoAnd one of them spoke to the Baptist and said: “Is it trueThat you preached in the wilderness saying repent and prepareThe way of the Lord, whose shoes I am worthless to bear;Who will fan out the chaff, gather wheat, purge the floorWith fire and the Spirit baptize you, bring down and restoreThe kingdom of heaven? And are we abused in the wordThat as he came out of the waters of Jordan you heardA voice call from heaven which thundered: ‘This son of my loveWith whom I am pleased you shall hear,’ and a doveFor the Spirit descended upon him—and yet can you askIf he be the one that should come? Yet we take up thetaskAnd go at your bidding.” And John said: “I suffer withoutYou seek him and ask, for this is the cause of my doubt:—I have heard of his works and rejoice. But why does he feastWhen I fasted myself? And how have the rumors increasedThat he fellows with publicans, sinners and drinkers of wine,A bibber himself, when the springs of the desert were mine?And how is the ax, as I said, laid close to the root of the tree,And my curses fulfilled of the Pharisees, if this must be?And if, as they say, he is preaching the word that we makeOf the unrighteous mammon a friend for the day when we breakWith the lords of the riches of truth, as he put it, for thenThe unrighteous mammon shall take us, console us again:—I have wasted the goods of my lord! I am caught and accused!Shall I make good the theft from my lord in a trust I abused?Why, no! I go out to the debtors, my master to foil,How much do you owe him? Why, so many measures of oil!Sit down then, I say, make the bill but a half, quickly write:—I am wiser in this, so he says, than the children of light—As I make for myself by the trick of a thief, and a theft,The confederates’ home for my own for my honor bereft.Go! learn if he said this. Return ere the rise of the sun:—Shall we look for another to save us, or is he the one?”
John said to the jailer: “Where are my disciples? BefriendMy grief and my doubt, and entreat them to come, to the endThat they ask him for me if we look for another, or deem,As I did, that this prophet shall save and fulfill and redeem.”And the jailer replied: “Since the wrath of King Herod a dishYour head shall contain by to-morrow, I give you your wish.”So he brought the disciples to John and the two of them ledTo the cell where he sat, and John to the two of them said:—“At this end of my life and my hopes, at the door of my doomGo ask him for me and report: is it he that should come,Or shall we yet look for another?” Amazed were the twoAnd one of them spoke to the Baptist and said: “Is it trueThat you preached in the wilderness saying repent and prepareThe way of the Lord, whose shoes I am worthless to bear;Who will fan out the chaff, gather wheat, purge the floorWith fire and the Spirit baptize you, bring down and restoreThe kingdom of heaven? And are we abused in the wordThat as he came out of the waters of Jordan you heardA voice call from heaven which thundered: ‘This son of my loveWith whom I am pleased you shall hear,’ and a doveFor the Spirit descended upon him—and yet can you askIf he be the one that should come? Yet we take up thetaskAnd go at your bidding.” And John said: “I suffer withoutYou seek him and ask, for this is the cause of my doubt:—I have heard of his works and rejoice. But why does he feastWhen I fasted myself? And how have the rumors increasedThat he fellows with publicans, sinners and drinkers of wine,A bibber himself, when the springs of the desert were mine?And how is the ax, as I said, laid close to the root of the tree,And my curses fulfilled of the Pharisees, if this must be?And if, as they say, he is preaching the word that we makeOf the unrighteous mammon a friend for the day when we breakWith the lords of the riches of truth, as he put it, for thenThe unrighteous mammon shall take us, console us again:—I have wasted the goods of my lord! I am caught and accused!Shall I make good the theft from my lord in a trust I abused?Why, no! I go out to the debtors, my master to foil,How much do you owe him? Why, so many measures of oil!Sit down then, I say, make the bill but a half, quickly write:—I am wiser in this, so he says, than the children of light—As I make for myself by the trick of a thief, and a theft,The confederates’ home for my own for my honor bereft.Go! learn if he said this. Return ere the rise of the sun:—Shall we look for another to save us, or is he the one?”
John said to the jailer: “Where are my disciples? BefriendMy grief and my doubt, and entreat them to come, to the end
That they ask him for me if we look for another, or deem,As I did, that this prophet shall save and fulfill and redeem.”
And the jailer replied: “Since the wrath of King Herod a dishYour head shall contain by to-morrow, I give you your wish.”
So he brought the disciples to John and the two of them ledTo the cell where he sat, and John to the two of them said:—
“At this end of my life and my hopes, at the door of my doomGo ask him for me and report: is it he that should come,
Or shall we yet look for another?” Amazed were the twoAnd one of them spoke to the Baptist and said: “Is it true
That you preached in the wilderness saying repent and prepareThe way of the Lord, whose shoes I am worthless to bear;
Who will fan out the chaff, gather wheat, purge the floorWith fire and the Spirit baptize you, bring down and restore
The kingdom of heaven? And are we abused in the wordThat as he came out of the waters of Jordan you heard
A voice call from heaven which thundered: ‘This son of my loveWith whom I am pleased you shall hear,’ and a dove
For the Spirit descended upon him—and yet can you askIf he be the one that should come? Yet we take up thetask
And go at your bidding.” And John said: “I suffer withoutYou seek him and ask, for this is the cause of my doubt:—
I have heard of his works and rejoice. But why does he feastWhen I fasted myself? And how have the rumors increased
That he fellows with publicans, sinners and drinkers of wine,A bibber himself, when the springs of the desert were mine?
And how is the ax, as I said, laid close to the root of the tree,And my curses fulfilled of the Pharisees, if this must be?
And if, as they say, he is preaching the word that we makeOf the unrighteous mammon a friend for the day when we break
With the lords of the riches of truth, as he put it, for thenThe unrighteous mammon shall take us, console us again:—
I have wasted the goods of my lord! I am caught and accused!Shall I make good the theft from my lord in a trust I abused?
Why, no! I go out to the debtors, my master to foil,How much do you owe him? Why, so many measures of oil!
Sit down then, I say, make the bill but a half, quickly write:—I am wiser in this, so he says, than the children of light—
As I make for myself by the trick of a thief, and a theft,The confederates’ home for my own for my honor bereft.
Go! learn if he said this. Return ere the rise of the sun:—Shall we look for another to save us, or is he the one?”
Who is that coming? Look! They are bearing a body again.It’s a woman now, I think. And the very same young menWho brought Ananias’ body we buried a moment ago.Pat down the earth a little, the grass will sooner grow.Yes, now I see it’s Sapphira. What did she do to winDeath at the hands of Peter, or was it her husband’s sin?To which she agreed, or kept her husband’s secret in faith.They sold a sheep, as I hear it, and suffered sudden deathFor hiding part of the price, for a thing commendable:Their boy is sick, and they needed money to get him well.Just look how things are going: Cæsar the despot rules,The state is his. For the rest, we are run by a pack of fools;Zealots and mystics who say that the end of the world is near.Tyranny around us, on top, under us dullness and fear.Songs and the wine-cup banished, freedom throttled blue.It’s the same here being a Greek, Persian, Median, Jew.Roman sovereignty over us, merciless, cold and bright.Fogs over the land of dust, day no different than night.Listless we labor or idle, creep into an early bed.Sleep is the best thing now, and the best is the sleep of the dead.Prepare for the end of the world! Build up the church, the throne,Sell all your goods and give, have nothing to call your own;Put everything in common. That’s one cry. What remains?Taxes, soldiers, prisons, edicts, laws and chains.There never was such a time! What man is lord of his soul?Someone entered my barn and took my ass with foalFor the prophet to ride on in triumph. I was there and saw him ride,Crowds crying hallelujah pressing on every side.They would have all things in common. They kill a man and his wife,And Cæsar rules as always, and yet they call this life!Wars forever and ever, manned by hovels and huts;And what is it all about? lands, and gold and guts;And baptists stirring the dreamers, and bankers that thrive thereby.Why kill off Ananias when the whole of life is a lie?All right, young men, put her down. Go to it now with the spade.We’ll bury the woman Sapphira here where her husband’s laid.They’re out of it. Neither Cæsar nor Peter can wake their sleep.I lost my ass, and they lost their lives for the price of a sheep.And Cæsar will rule forever! And Peter if he grows strongWill make a pact with Cæsar, and Israel’s woe and wrongWill spread all over the earth. It takes no prophet to seeThat while there is Gold and Fear man will never be free—Until the world is fed, and hunger steals like a wraithWith the ghost of Cæsar’s lust, and the mist of Peter’s faith.
Who is that coming? Look! They are bearing a body again.It’s a woman now, I think. And the very same young menWho brought Ananias’ body we buried a moment ago.Pat down the earth a little, the grass will sooner grow.Yes, now I see it’s Sapphira. What did she do to winDeath at the hands of Peter, or was it her husband’s sin?To which she agreed, or kept her husband’s secret in faith.They sold a sheep, as I hear it, and suffered sudden deathFor hiding part of the price, for a thing commendable:Their boy is sick, and they needed money to get him well.Just look how things are going: Cæsar the despot rules,The state is his. For the rest, we are run by a pack of fools;Zealots and mystics who say that the end of the world is near.Tyranny around us, on top, under us dullness and fear.Songs and the wine-cup banished, freedom throttled blue.It’s the same here being a Greek, Persian, Median, Jew.Roman sovereignty over us, merciless, cold and bright.Fogs over the land of dust, day no different than night.Listless we labor or idle, creep into an early bed.Sleep is the best thing now, and the best is the sleep of the dead.Prepare for the end of the world! Build up the church, the throne,Sell all your goods and give, have nothing to call your own;Put everything in common. That’s one cry. What remains?Taxes, soldiers, prisons, edicts, laws and chains.There never was such a time! What man is lord of his soul?Someone entered my barn and took my ass with foalFor the prophet to ride on in triumph. I was there and saw him ride,Crowds crying hallelujah pressing on every side.They would have all things in common. They kill a man and his wife,And Cæsar rules as always, and yet they call this life!Wars forever and ever, manned by hovels and huts;And what is it all about? lands, and gold and guts;And baptists stirring the dreamers, and bankers that thrive thereby.Why kill off Ananias when the whole of life is a lie?All right, young men, put her down. Go to it now with the spade.We’ll bury the woman Sapphira here where her husband’s laid.They’re out of it. Neither Cæsar nor Peter can wake their sleep.I lost my ass, and they lost their lives for the price of a sheep.And Cæsar will rule forever! And Peter if he grows strongWill make a pact with Cæsar, and Israel’s woe and wrongWill spread all over the earth. It takes no prophet to seeThat while there is Gold and Fear man will never be free—Until the world is fed, and hunger steals like a wraithWith the ghost of Cæsar’s lust, and the mist of Peter’s faith.
Who is that coming? Look! They are bearing a body again.It’s a woman now, I think. And the very same young men
Who brought Ananias’ body we buried a moment ago.Pat down the earth a little, the grass will sooner grow.
Yes, now I see it’s Sapphira. What did she do to winDeath at the hands of Peter, or was it her husband’s sin?
To which she agreed, or kept her husband’s secret in faith.They sold a sheep, as I hear it, and suffered sudden death
For hiding part of the price, for a thing commendable:Their boy is sick, and they needed money to get him well.
Just look how things are going: Cæsar the despot rules,The state is his. For the rest, we are run by a pack of fools;
Zealots and mystics who say that the end of the world is near.Tyranny around us, on top, under us dullness and fear.
Songs and the wine-cup banished, freedom throttled blue.It’s the same here being a Greek, Persian, Median, Jew.
Roman sovereignty over us, merciless, cold and bright.Fogs over the land of dust, day no different than night.
Listless we labor or idle, creep into an early bed.Sleep is the best thing now, and the best is the sleep of the dead.
Prepare for the end of the world! Build up the church, the throne,Sell all your goods and give, have nothing to call your own;
Put everything in common. That’s one cry. What remains?Taxes, soldiers, prisons, edicts, laws and chains.
There never was such a time! What man is lord of his soul?Someone entered my barn and took my ass with foal
For the prophet to ride on in triumph. I was there and saw him ride,Crowds crying hallelujah pressing on every side.
They would have all things in common. They kill a man and his wife,And Cæsar rules as always, and yet they call this life!
Wars forever and ever, manned by hovels and huts;And what is it all about? lands, and gold and guts;
And baptists stirring the dreamers, and bankers that thrive thereby.Why kill off Ananias when the whole of life is a lie?
All right, young men, put her down. Go to it now with the spade.We’ll bury the woman Sapphira here where her husband’s laid.
They’re out of it. Neither Cæsar nor Peter can wake their sleep.I lost my ass, and they lost their lives for the price of a sheep.
And Cæsar will rule forever! And Peter if he grows strongWill make a pact with Cæsar, and Israel’s woe and wrong
Will spread all over the earth. It takes no prophet to seeThat while there is Gold and Fear man will never be free—
Until the world is fed, and hunger steals like a wraithWith the ghost of Cæsar’s lust, and the mist of Peter’s faith.
Ask Matthew, or ask Mark, and get the truth.I know myself, was there and heard them both—Both railed at him. No! one did not rebukeThe other for his railing; did not askTo be remembered when into his KingdomJesus should come. What kingdom? David’s?—pah!That had gone whirling with the desert’s dust.What kingdom? That within you? A fool’s kingdom!“To-day thou shalt be with me in Paradise,”He never said that. I was there. I know.And if he did, where is that paradise?Where is he? And where is the man they sayHe said this to? Ask Matthew, learn the truth:Both railed at him. Both died, nerved to the lastBy bitter disappointment.Listen, friend,These malefactors were my brothers! Well,I saw them grow up lusty. I beheldTheir course from hope to action, till defeatAnd prison took them.For we are the sons,We Jews, of those who went to Babylon;Returned to fall by Alexander’s sword;Were snatched by Syria, then Egypt came,Put heels upon our necks. Rome sailed to us,And took us over. And these bitter yearsMade poets, prophets of us, spurred us onTo inflate the dream Jehovah with our breathOf threats and curses; yet these bitter yearsKept at white heat the hope of David’s throne,Restored, triumphant, and our propheciesWere from Jehovah of a king to comeWho would free Israel, drive the oppressor off,And let us live as men.Now it may beA certain Jacob was his grandfather,As Matthew says; or it may be that HeliWas his grandfather, as Luke says, but stillBoth say he was of David. And Luke saysThe angel Gabriel came to Mary, his mother,And said he shall be great and shall be calledThe Son of the Most High, and God shall give himThe throne of his father David. He shall reignOver the house of Jacob, and his kingdomShall have no end. We looked for such a oneTo free us and with portents such as stars,And Gabriel descending, BethlehemBecome his birth-place, and the propheciesOf old fulfilled, we looked for Israel freed,And for a king of Jewish blood to rule us—No Cæsar any more. For it was prophesiedOf Bethlehem: For out of thee shall comeA governor, a shepherd of my people!And look, he’s born in Bethlehem! And why notOur hope re-kindled?And now look at us;These centuries bruised, imprisoned and made poor,Jerusalem a city of wails and woes,The whole of Israel slaved! And look at him!How does he start his work, whatever it be?By reading from Isaiah at Nazareth:—“The spirit of the Lord is upon me, becauseHe anointed me to preach good tidings toThe poor, hath sent me to proclaim releaseTo captives and to set at libertyThem that are bruised.”What doctrine may this be,But change, or revolution, and the fermentOf new wine bursting bottles frail and old,This tyranny of Cæsar, this dependenceOn alien rulership? You know yourselfBarabbas was not single in the crimeOf insurrection, ask the fellow Mark.He’ll tell you this Barabbas lay in bondsWith many who rose up, committed murder.Of these were my two brothers, crucifiedWith Jesus on that day.Well, so it wasHe preached, was followed by the poor, the weak,The slaved, despoiled until ’twas noised abroadThrough all the hill country and in the citiesThat he stirred up the people everywhere,Devising revolution, overthrowOf Cæsar’s rule. But there was murmuring too:For some said he was good, and others saidHe deceived the people. For upon a dayWhen he was asked directly of our tribute,Whether to pay to Cæsar, not to pay,He dodged and said: “Give Cæsar his due and GodHis due”; but what we wished to know, was whatWas Cæsar’s due, and give it him, and ifNo tribute was his due, but rather castingThe yoke of Cæsar, then give Cæsar that.He did not answer what the Pharisees asked,That whichwewished to hear him answer, thoughThe Pharisees had asked him. For we poor,Enslaved and disinherited had followedHis leadership thus far.Behold the change:Passing from work unfinished he becomesThe Son of God and God himself, becomesA mystery, the Word that lived and wroughtBefore John who announced him. Tidings preached,I grant you, to the poor, but who remainPoor as before, but worn for broken hopeOf words that changed no thing. And no releaseTo captives, and no liberty to thoseBruised and in chains. And so I say his workIs left unfinished, nothing done in truth.And quickly, like a sun-rise on the hills,He flashes forth his God-head, and we’re leftTo Cæsar’s will, and end up with the words:—His kingdom is of heaven, not of earth;Refines the point: this kingdom is within us.And he will die and rise again from death,Ascend to heaven, and return againBefore this generation passes to take upHis own to heaven, and will rule foreverIn heaven, not in Israel. For the worldIs to be burnt, with all its disbelievers.And when it’s burnt, sitting at God’s right handHe’ll rule forever with his own! You seeWhat we expected vanished in such words,Such madness, idle dreams.But, as I said,His lineage was David’s; Matthew, MarkWill tell you so. But David said of Christ,Calling him Lord; sit thou on my right handTill I make enemies of thine thy foot-stool.“How is Christ son of David, being his Lord?”Asked Jesus of the Pharisees, closed their mouthsWith asking that. The common people heardHim gladly when he said this—true enough!But I, my brothers, did not hear him gladly.For if he were the son of God, yet equalIn being and in time with God, why notThe son and lord of David? Both perplexThe spirit of man; one mystery is as darkAs another mystery, and if one be so, thenAnother may be also. Pass the point....They crucified my brothers with him! BothRailed on him for deliverance from the cross.If he were God, he could have plucked the nailsAnd let them down, escape. And listen now:My brothers kept their faith in him to the last,And since they were condemned and had to payFor insurrection on the cross, chose outHis day of crucifixion for their own;Believed that he would save them, and so makeThis choosing of his time of penaltyAn hour of luck. And so I tell you truth:Though both were railing it was rather painThan lack of hope that made them rail at him.Nor was it mockery that made them rail.They hoped to stir him by their words, evokeHis greatest strength to help them that they railed.They even smiled a little when the nailsWere driven through their hands, as if to say:“You cannot harm us when this god is here;Go, do your butcher business, for at lastHe’ll save himself and us.” And just as menRefuse to think death near, and still believeThey will escape it somehow, when no aid,But human hands is near, my brothers thoughtThis god would surely save them. So they talked,Hunched up their legs and shoulders to ease upThe strain of hanging on the nails, and waited,Joked with the lookers on, and smiled and begged,And sweated agony and railed at last.But when the voices in the crowd called out:“If you trust God, let God deliver you,If you are God’s son, let Him save you now;Save thou thyself!” my older brother said:“If I were off this cross I’d break your heads,You crooked priests, you whited sepulchers,You carrion Scribes and Pharisees.”And such noiseAs they cast lots to get his garments, shoutsWhen they were won and parted! In a silenceHe asked his Father to forgive them, sayingThey knew not what they did. My brother bawled:“They know what they are doing, they have killedThe prophets in all ages! Don’t say that!Don’t end up soft, you cursed them hitherto,These are the vipers that you cursed before;These are the vultures that you said you’d shutThe gates of heaven against; these are the wolvesThat thirst for blood and lap it, unrepentantBlasphemers against you and the Holy Ghost;Committers of unpardonable sins, the bandYou drove with knotted cords from out the temple.And what is usury or selling dovesTo killing you? Why ask your Father this?Why now this softness? Change of mood, why prayersInstead of curses? If you’re dying, sire,Be what you were when you were flush with life,And curse them into hell. Hold to your strength,And curse them into hell.” And so it wentWith talking back and forth, mixed in with groans,And curses, railings, while my brothers twistedTheir bodies, and hunched up their thighs and backsTo ease the strain of hanging on the nails,And dribbled at the mouth, and babbled thingsAnd laughed like devils in a soul possessed.But when he thirsted and they took a spongeAnd gave him vinegar, and he sucked it in,They looked at him with eyes that bulged with fear:—They saw him drooping, fainting, losing strength,They struggled then and shouted: “Keep on breathing!Breathe deep! Call on your Father! Don’t give up!Fight for your life, your god-head and ourselves!We’re here because you came and preached, and stirredThe people! Don’t desert us now! Great Lord,Messiah, Son of God, are we first martyrsTo what you failed to do? We cannot die,You must not die. Let David’s throne be lostAs lost it is, but not our lives! Great Lord!”Thus as they chattered, chattered, bawled and shoutedJesus threw back his head and cried so loudThat all the valleys echoed it: “My God,My God, why hast thou forsaken me?” And thenHis head dropped on his chest—and he was dead....They looked at him—my brothers looked at him,And whimpered—they were beaten, but fought on.Tears stained with blood went coursing down their cheeks.And then the soldiers came to break their legs.And one had fainted, but the other oneWas fighting still and said: “Have mercy friend,Cæsar would save me, what does Cæsar careFor one poor rebel?”Then they broke their legs,And all were dead. So ended up anotherChapter in this poor world’s hopeless hope.
Ask Matthew, or ask Mark, and get the truth.I know myself, was there and heard them both—Both railed at him. No! one did not rebukeThe other for his railing; did not askTo be remembered when into his KingdomJesus should come. What kingdom? David’s?—pah!That had gone whirling with the desert’s dust.What kingdom? That within you? A fool’s kingdom!“To-day thou shalt be with me in Paradise,”He never said that. I was there. I know.And if he did, where is that paradise?Where is he? And where is the man they sayHe said this to? Ask Matthew, learn the truth:Both railed at him. Both died, nerved to the lastBy bitter disappointment.Listen, friend,These malefactors were my brothers! Well,I saw them grow up lusty. I beheldTheir course from hope to action, till defeatAnd prison took them.For we are the sons,We Jews, of those who went to Babylon;Returned to fall by Alexander’s sword;Were snatched by Syria, then Egypt came,Put heels upon our necks. Rome sailed to us,And took us over. And these bitter yearsMade poets, prophets of us, spurred us onTo inflate the dream Jehovah with our breathOf threats and curses; yet these bitter yearsKept at white heat the hope of David’s throne,Restored, triumphant, and our propheciesWere from Jehovah of a king to comeWho would free Israel, drive the oppressor off,And let us live as men.Now it may beA certain Jacob was his grandfather,As Matthew says; or it may be that HeliWas his grandfather, as Luke says, but stillBoth say he was of David. And Luke saysThe angel Gabriel came to Mary, his mother,And said he shall be great and shall be calledThe Son of the Most High, and God shall give himThe throne of his father David. He shall reignOver the house of Jacob, and his kingdomShall have no end. We looked for such a oneTo free us and with portents such as stars,And Gabriel descending, BethlehemBecome his birth-place, and the propheciesOf old fulfilled, we looked for Israel freed,And for a king of Jewish blood to rule us—No Cæsar any more. For it was prophesiedOf Bethlehem: For out of thee shall comeA governor, a shepherd of my people!And look, he’s born in Bethlehem! And why notOur hope re-kindled?And now look at us;These centuries bruised, imprisoned and made poor,Jerusalem a city of wails and woes,The whole of Israel slaved! And look at him!How does he start his work, whatever it be?By reading from Isaiah at Nazareth:—“The spirit of the Lord is upon me, becauseHe anointed me to preach good tidings toThe poor, hath sent me to proclaim releaseTo captives and to set at libertyThem that are bruised.”What doctrine may this be,But change, or revolution, and the fermentOf new wine bursting bottles frail and old,This tyranny of Cæsar, this dependenceOn alien rulership? You know yourselfBarabbas was not single in the crimeOf insurrection, ask the fellow Mark.He’ll tell you this Barabbas lay in bondsWith many who rose up, committed murder.Of these were my two brothers, crucifiedWith Jesus on that day.Well, so it wasHe preached, was followed by the poor, the weak,The slaved, despoiled until ’twas noised abroadThrough all the hill country and in the citiesThat he stirred up the people everywhere,Devising revolution, overthrowOf Cæsar’s rule. But there was murmuring too:For some said he was good, and others saidHe deceived the people. For upon a dayWhen he was asked directly of our tribute,Whether to pay to Cæsar, not to pay,He dodged and said: “Give Cæsar his due and GodHis due”; but what we wished to know, was whatWas Cæsar’s due, and give it him, and ifNo tribute was his due, but rather castingThe yoke of Cæsar, then give Cæsar that.He did not answer what the Pharisees asked,That whichwewished to hear him answer, thoughThe Pharisees had asked him. For we poor,Enslaved and disinherited had followedHis leadership thus far.Behold the change:Passing from work unfinished he becomesThe Son of God and God himself, becomesA mystery, the Word that lived and wroughtBefore John who announced him. Tidings preached,I grant you, to the poor, but who remainPoor as before, but worn for broken hopeOf words that changed no thing. And no releaseTo captives, and no liberty to thoseBruised and in chains. And so I say his workIs left unfinished, nothing done in truth.And quickly, like a sun-rise on the hills,He flashes forth his God-head, and we’re leftTo Cæsar’s will, and end up with the words:—His kingdom is of heaven, not of earth;Refines the point: this kingdom is within us.And he will die and rise again from death,Ascend to heaven, and return againBefore this generation passes to take upHis own to heaven, and will rule foreverIn heaven, not in Israel. For the worldIs to be burnt, with all its disbelievers.And when it’s burnt, sitting at God’s right handHe’ll rule forever with his own! You seeWhat we expected vanished in such words,Such madness, idle dreams.But, as I said,His lineage was David’s; Matthew, MarkWill tell you so. But David said of Christ,Calling him Lord; sit thou on my right handTill I make enemies of thine thy foot-stool.“How is Christ son of David, being his Lord?”Asked Jesus of the Pharisees, closed their mouthsWith asking that. The common people heardHim gladly when he said this—true enough!But I, my brothers, did not hear him gladly.For if he were the son of God, yet equalIn being and in time with God, why notThe son and lord of David? Both perplexThe spirit of man; one mystery is as darkAs another mystery, and if one be so, thenAnother may be also. Pass the point....They crucified my brothers with him! BothRailed on him for deliverance from the cross.If he were God, he could have plucked the nailsAnd let them down, escape. And listen now:My brothers kept their faith in him to the last,And since they were condemned and had to payFor insurrection on the cross, chose outHis day of crucifixion for their own;Believed that he would save them, and so makeThis choosing of his time of penaltyAn hour of luck. And so I tell you truth:Though both were railing it was rather painThan lack of hope that made them rail at him.Nor was it mockery that made them rail.They hoped to stir him by their words, evokeHis greatest strength to help them that they railed.They even smiled a little when the nailsWere driven through their hands, as if to say:“You cannot harm us when this god is here;Go, do your butcher business, for at lastHe’ll save himself and us.” And just as menRefuse to think death near, and still believeThey will escape it somehow, when no aid,But human hands is near, my brothers thoughtThis god would surely save them. So they talked,Hunched up their legs and shoulders to ease upThe strain of hanging on the nails, and waited,Joked with the lookers on, and smiled and begged,And sweated agony and railed at last.But when the voices in the crowd called out:“If you trust God, let God deliver you,If you are God’s son, let Him save you now;Save thou thyself!” my older brother said:“If I were off this cross I’d break your heads,You crooked priests, you whited sepulchers,You carrion Scribes and Pharisees.”And such noiseAs they cast lots to get his garments, shoutsWhen they were won and parted! In a silenceHe asked his Father to forgive them, sayingThey knew not what they did. My brother bawled:“They know what they are doing, they have killedThe prophets in all ages! Don’t say that!Don’t end up soft, you cursed them hitherto,These are the vipers that you cursed before;These are the vultures that you said you’d shutThe gates of heaven against; these are the wolvesThat thirst for blood and lap it, unrepentantBlasphemers against you and the Holy Ghost;Committers of unpardonable sins, the bandYou drove with knotted cords from out the temple.And what is usury or selling dovesTo killing you? Why ask your Father this?Why now this softness? Change of mood, why prayersInstead of curses? If you’re dying, sire,Be what you were when you were flush with life,And curse them into hell. Hold to your strength,And curse them into hell.” And so it wentWith talking back and forth, mixed in with groans,And curses, railings, while my brothers twistedTheir bodies, and hunched up their thighs and backsTo ease the strain of hanging on the nails,And dribbled at the mouth, and babbled thingsAnd laughed like devils in a soul possessed.But when he thirsted and they took a spongeAnd gave him vinegar, and he sucked it in,They looked at him with eyes that bulged with fear:—They saw him drooping, fainting, losing strength,They struggled then and shouted: “Keep on breathing!Breathe deep! Call on your Father! Don’t give up!Fight for your life, your god-head and ourselves!We’re here because you came and preached, and stirredThe people! Don’t desert us now! Great Lord,Messiah, Son of God, are we first martyrsTo what you failed to do? We cannot die,You must not die. Let David’s throne be lostAs lost it is, but not our lives! Great Lord!”Thus as they chattered, chattered, bawled and shoutedJesus threw back his head and cried so loudThat all the valleys echoed it: “My God,My God, why hast thou forsaken me?” And thenHis head dropped on his chest—and he was dead....They looked at him—my brothers looked at him,And whimpered—they were beaten, but fought on.Tears stained with blood went coursing down their cheeks.And then the soldiers came to break their legs.And one had fainted, but the other oneWas fighting still and said: “Have mercy friend,Cæsar would save me, what does Cæsar careFor one poor rebel?”Then they broke their legs,And all were dead. So ended up anotherChapter in this poor world’s hopeless hope.
Ask Matthew, or ask Mark, and get the truth.I know myself, was there and heard them both—Both railed at him. No! one did not rebukeThe other for his railing; did not askTo be remembered when into his KingdomJesus should come. What kingdom? David’s?—pah!That had gone whirling with the desert’s dust.What kingdom? That within you? A fool’s kingdom!“To-day thou shalt be with me in Paradise,”He never said that. I was there. I know.And if he did, where is that paradise?Where is he? And where is the man they sayHe said this to? Ask Matthew, learn the truth:Both railed at him. Both died, nerved to the lastBy bitter disappointment.
Listen, friend,These malefactors were my brothers! Well,I saw them grow up lusty. I beheldTheir course from hope to action, till defeatAnd prison took them.
For we are the sons,We Jews, of those who went to Babylon;Returned to fall by Alexander’s sword;Were snatched by Syria, then Egypt came,Put heels upon our necks. Rome sailed to us,And took us over. And these bitter yearsMade poets, prophets of us, spurred us onTo inflate the dream Jehovah with our breathOf threats and curses; yet these bitter yearsKept at white heat the hope of David’s throne,Restored, triumphant, and our propheciesWere from Jehovah of a king to comeWho would free Israel, drive the oppressor off,And let us live as men.
Now it may beA certain Jacob was his grandfather,As Matthew says; or it may be that HeliWas his grandfather, as Luke says, but stillBoth say he was of David. And Luke saysThe angel Gabriel came to Mary, his mother,And said he shall be great and shall be calledThe Son of the Most High, and God shall give himThe throne of his father David. He shall reignOver the house of Jacob, and his kingdomShall have no end. We looked for such a oneTo free us and with portents such as stars,And Gabriel descending, BethlehemBecome his birth-place, and the propheciesOf old fulfilled, we looked for Israel freed,And for a king of Jewish blood to rule us—No Cæsar any more. For it was prophesiedOf Bethlehem: For out of thee shall comeA governor, a shepherd of my people!And look, he’s born in Bethlehem! And why notOur hope re-kindled?
And now look at us;These centuries bruised, imprisoned and made poor,Jerusalem a city of wails and woes,The whole of Israel slaved! And look at him!How does he start his work, whatever it be?By reading from Isaiah at Nazareth:—“The spirit of the Lord is upon me, becauseHe anointed me to preach good tidings toThe poor, hath sent me to proclaim releaseTo captives and to set at libertyThem that are bruised.”
What doctrine may this be,But change, or revolution, and the fermentOf new wine bursting bottles frail and old,This tyranny of Cæsar, this dependenceOn alien rulership? You know yourselfBarabbas was not single in the crimeOf insurrection, ask the fellow Mark.He’ll tell you this Barabbas lay in bondsWith many who rose up, committed murder.Of these were my two brothers, crucifiedWith Jesus on that day.
Well, so it wasHe preached, was followed by the poor, the weak,The slaved, despoiled until ’twas noised abroadThrough all the hill country and in the citiesThat he stirred up the people everywhere,Devising revolution, overthrowOf Cæsar’s rule. But there was murmuring too:For some said he was good, and others saidHe deceived the people. For upon a dayWhen he was asked directly of our tribute,Whether to pay to Cæsar, not to pay,He dodged and said: “Give Cæsar his due and GodHis due”; but what we wished to know, was whatWas Cæsar’s due, and give it him, and ifNo tribute was his due, but rather castingThe yoke of Cæsar, then give Cæsar that.He did not answer what the Pharisees asked,That whichwewished to hear him answer, thoughThe Pharisees had asked him. For we poor,Enslaved and disinherited had followedHis leadership thus far.
Behold the change:Passing from work unfinished he becomesThe Son of God and God himself, becomesA mystery, the Word that lived and wroughtBefore John who announced him. Tidings preached,I grant you, to the poor, but who remainPoor as before, but worn for broken hopeOf words that changed no thing. And no releaseTo captives, and no liberty to thoseBruised and in chains. And so I say his workIs left unfinished, nothing done in truth.And quickly, like a sun-rise on the hills,He flashes forth his God-head, and we’re leftTo Cæsar’s will, and end up with the words:—His kingdom is of heaven, not of earth;Refines the point: this kingdom is within us.And he will die and rise again from death,Ascend to heaven, and return againBefore this generation passes to take upHis own to heaven, and will rule foreverIn heaven, not in Israel. For the worldIs to be burnt, with all its disbelievers.And when it’s burnt, sitting at God’s right handHe’ll rule forever with his own! You seeWhat we expected vanished in such words,Such madness, idle dreams.
But, as I said,His lineage was David’s; Matthew, MarkWill tell you so. But David said of Christ,Calling him Lord; sit thou on my right handTill I make enemies of thine thy foot-stool.“How is Christ son of David, being his Lord?”Asked Jesus of the Pharisees, closed their mouthsWith asking that. The common people heardHim gladly when he said this—true enough!But I, my brothers, did not hear him gladly.For if he were the son of God, yet equalIn being and in time with God, why notThe son and lord of David? Both perplexThe spirit of man; one mystery is as darkAs another mystery, and if one be so, thenAnother may be also. Pass the point....
They crucified my brothers with him! BothRailed on him for deliverance from the cross.If he were God, he could have plucked the nailsAnd let them down, escape. And listen now:My brothers kept their faith in him to the last,And since they were condemned and had to payFor insurrection on the cross, chose outHis day of crucifixion for their own;Believed that he would save them, and so makeThis choosing of his time of penaltyAn hour of luck. And so I tell you truth:Though both were railing it was rather painThan lack of hope that made them rail at him.Nor was it mockery that made them rail.They hoped to stir him by their words, evokeHis greatest strength to help them that they railed.They even smiled a little when the nailsWere driven through their hands, as if to say:“You cannot harm us when this god is here;Go, do your butcher business, for at lastHe’ll save himself and us.” And just as menRefuse to think death near, and still believeThey will escape it somehow, when no aid,But human hands is near, my brothers thoughtThis god would surely save them. So they talked,Hunched up their legs and shoulders to ease upThe strain of hanging on the nails, and waited,Joked with the lookers on, and smiled and begged,And sweated agony and railed at last.But when the voices in the crowd called out:“If you trust God, let God deliver you,If you are God’s son, let Him save you now;Save thou thyself!” my older brother said:“If I were off this cross I’d break your heads,You crooked priests, you whited sepulchers,You carrion Scribes and Pharisees.”
And such noiseAs they cast lots to get his garments, shoutsWhen they were won and parted! In a silenceHe asked his Father to forgive them, sayingThey knew not what they did. My brother bawled:“They know what they are doing, they have killedThe prophets in all ages! Don’t say that!Don’t end up soft, you cursed them hitherto,These are the vipers that you cursed before;These are the vultures that you said you’d shutThe gates of heaven against; these are the wolvesThat thirst for blood and lap it, unrepentantBlasphemers against you and the Holy Ghost;Committers of unpardonable sins, the bandYou drove with knotted cords from out the temple.And what is usury or selling dovesTo killing you? Why ask your Father this?Why now this softness? Change of mood, why prayersInstead of curses? If you’re dying, sire,Be what you were when you were flush with life,And curse them into hell. Hold to your strength,And curse them into hell.” And so it wentWith talking back and forth, mixed in with groans,And curses, railings, while my brothers twistedTheir bodies, and hunched up their thighs and backsTo ease the strain of hanging on the nails,And dribbled at the mouth, and babbled thingsAnd laughed like devils in a soul possessed.
But when he thirsted and they took a spongeAnd gave him vinegar, and he sucked it in,They looked at him with eyes that bulged with fear:—They saw him drooping, fainting, losing strength,They struggled then and shouted: “Keep on breathing!Breathe deep! Call on your Father! Don’t give up!Fight for your life, your god-head and ourselves!We’re here because you came and preached, and stirredThe people! Don’t desert us now! Great Lord,Messiah, Son of God, are we first martyrsTo what you failed to do? We cannot die,You must not die. Let David’s throne be lostAs lost it is, but not our lives! Great Lord!”Thus as they chattered, chattered, bawled and shoutedJesus threw back his head and cried so loudThat all the valleys echoed it: “My God,My God, why hast thou forsaken me?” And thenHis head dropped on his chest—and he was dead....
They looked at him—my brothers looked at him,And whimpered—they were beaten, but fought on.Tears stained with blood went coursing down their cheeks.And then the soldiers came to break their legs.And one had fainted, but the other oneWas fighting still and said: “Have mercy friend,Cæsar would save me, what does Cæsar careFor one poor rebel?”
Then they broke their legs,And all were dead. So ended up anotherChapter in this poor world’s hopeless hope.