Classic Poem

Not these appal
The soul tip-toeing to belief:
The ribald call,
The last black anguish of the thief;

The fellowship
Of publican and Pharisee,
The harlot's lip
Passionate with humility;

Or the feet kissed
By her who was the Magdalen —
The sensualist
Is one among a world of men!

Oh, I can look
Upon another's drama; read
As in a book
Things unrelated to my need;

Give faith's assent
To that abysmal love outpoured —
But why was rent
Thy seamless coat for me , dear Lord?

Why didst Thou bow
Thy bleeding brows for my heart's good?
How shall I now
Reach to the mystic hardihood

Where I can take
For personal treasure all Thy loss,
When for my sake,
My sake, Thou didst endure the cross?

For my soul's worth
Was " It is finished! " loudly cried?
For me the birth,
The sorrows of the Crucified?