Classic Poem

Henry! He is the enemy of God,
In whose high stead I stand. And yet thou dost
Request his pardon here! Thou canst not, then,
Our cause of conflict know. Mindful to shun
The cares of state, three prelates I advanced
To wield the sceptre of the Holy See;
But temporal power corrupted, and they shrank
To merest cyphers on the world's dark slate;
So, when was heard once more the heavenly call,
And I was chosen by the cardinals,
I sought to purge the church of two dark sins,
The marriage of her priests, and that foul curse,
Deep-rooted and strong-sanctioned by the great,
The sale of sacred offices for gold.
Too great such task for man, unhelped of God.
Now must the vicar of the Christ be strong
To tear the roots of personal, deep love
From out the tender heart, and leave it bare
And bleeding, till ten thousand tongues
Of wives forsaken, children fatherless,
Curse Hildebrand. Was that a task to choose?
Ah, now I see the charge that flames thine eyes
And reprobates my deed. And yet, O thou
Dear heart of Tuscany, he who hath vowed
His life to God must have no concubine.
How shall he who is father of his own
Be father to the family of God?
And how, the shepherd of a private flock,
Keep safe the fold of Christ?

With bare, cold feet,
The heir of Charlemagne, whom God deposed,
Now begs admittance at Canossa's gate,
Where sleet lies still unmelted on the stones.
This Henry traded in the things of God,
Made boys archbishops, gluttons cardinals, and sold
The honour of the triple crown,
Estranging to the prodigal for gold
The powers pertinent to Christ alone.
And now, I would that he were penitent,
But hast thou counted what the cost might be
If he were not? What to the Church it means
If restoration of his power and state
Should give him boldness to resist my will,
To thwart the mighty purpose of my soul,
And shake the strong foundations of my throne?
Yet firm assurance is not in man's gift,
He knoweth not the fountains of the heart;
God give me insight into Henry's soul
That I with grace, interpreting his prayer,
May Christ's free mercy unto him extend
In his great need, that he may yet obey
And to obedience turn the people's hearts.
If pity doth with God's high purpose move.
I'll give the penitent free pardon now.
Thou goest? . . . . It is well—a little while.

Pietro! Truth, thou hast a holy name.
Now by the name of San Pietro, hear.
Go thou beyond Canossa's outer door,
There thou shalt find him who with feet unshod
Hath waited wearily for three long days.
Bring him to me with gentle courtesy,
And waste nor words nor time. May God dispose
Thy deed to His own will. . . . . .

So soon returned?
Now leave us here alone.

Henry, my son,
Thou knowest I would build a sovereignty
In God's high name o'er all the crowns of earth.
Vicar of Christ, illumined by his light,
This hand would rule the destinies of men,
And teach God's love and glory to all lands.
Lo, I would found a state eternal, strong,
With God as king to whom all kings should bow,
With love as law and truth as changeless guide,
With heavenly light, truth's sure interpreter.
Wilt thou in such a righteous kingdom reign,
Serve well and faithfully the King of Kings,
And give God's people their inheritance? . . . .
Then rise to higher strength and dignity,
Victorious deed and wide imperial power;
But give thy power to those who spoil the poor,
And I will make thy name anathema.
Make Christ the king and I will crown thy power
With permanence, thine arms with victory,
And thou shalt be the potentate of time.
Then shall Christ rule in every sovereignty,
And reign alone by right of heaven's decree;
The Church shall stand in purity and strength,
And priests hold power from God, serve Him alone
And be responsive only to their Head.
Now since thou dost consent to serve thy God,
Rise, Henry, king and emperor of Rome.
Be thou henceforth the friend of God and man,
And being such, then shalt thou be mine too;
I pardon in the name of Christ, thy sins.
And thee to high imperial state, restore.
Pietro! Let the servitors attend;
Choose out such vesture as befits a king;
With food and rest refresh this royal guest,
And when he wills it, bring him back to me.
Meanwhile, how best to stem that Moslem flood
That desecrates the Holy Sepulchre
Shall exercise the current of my thought.
Adieu, Imperial Heart. I pray God's peace
Be thine.

ISRAEL

My days, O King,
Are few and evil. I have not attained
Unto the age at which my fathers died;
Yet do I lift my feeble hands to heaven
And pray that Pharaoh's land may know God's smile;
The Lord Jehovah hear my prayer, and bless
And prosper Egypt with His power and peace.

Thy majesty doth bend to ask of me
That out of long experience I should pluck
Some fruit for royal tasting. I could wish
Such enterprise were worthier of thine ear,
But since thou dost command me, I obey
And briefly show the purport of my years.

Know, then, O King, that in my early youth
I, with a mess of lentils, basely bought
My brother's birthright. What I should have given
For pity of his need, I bartered with;
I worsted him for gain, deceived my sire,
Estranged the dear ones of my heart and home,
And cursed my soul with dearth and banishment.
I sought my uncle's house, bargained with God,
Deceived, and toiled and loved, and was deceived.
But when my artful soul, by scheming, gained
The wealth I toiled for, made my kinsman poor,
His daughters mine, his substance too, I turned
And got me hence, heart-hungry for my home.
When he pursued, I made an ample peace.
Costly to him, his love my sure ally,
For all that now was mine was dear to him.

Down through the vale of Gilead I moved,
And, coming leisurely to Jabbok's ford,
Was resting in my tent beside the stream,
When lo, there came two messengers in haste
With word that Esan, with four hundred men,
Was coming north from Edom. His intent,
Conscience to me made clear. How could I dare
To meet the force of his uncumbered arms?
Devising then my scheme of cowardice.

I thought to bribe him with o'erwhelming gifts,
Hoping that these his anger might assuage,
Even to the last scruple of his wrongs.
Yet fear was growing in my heart; my plan,
Frail as the bubble on the tossing surge,
Could not restore those benisons of peace,
A father's blessing and a brother's love,
Nor bring me back the joys of innocence.

My deeds denounced my heart, yet slandered not,
What agonies were mine! How shall I paint
The Tophet picture of those torturing hours!
I fain would trust thy fancy's defter brush
To flame the canvas with its proper fires.
The root of base, immedicable wrongs
'Gainst others wrought, I found in what I was,
The crush of threatened woes, cursing my deeds,
Was like a long ghost-finger to my soul,
Beck'ning to the abyss, and all the while,
I heard Jehovah's fiery word, “Repent!”

That night, no sleep I knew. The white star-streams,
The murmuring ford, the lowing of the herds,
Were nought to my unconscious sense, for there
I found the angel of the Lord, the man
I should have been, Messiah now, to me.
I faced the perfect life, and far beneath,
I marked the utter failure of my own;
My life, my soul, my self, were sin. O God,
I cried, deliver me from what I am
And make me what Thy love had patterned me.

The night was nought. It passed me like the dark
That shows the heavens deeper than my thought,
But ends in sun-bright day, for in the morn,—
That hour when truth emerges from its haze
And comes to man as naked as to God—
Two men contended in the spectral dawn,
The man I was and he who was to be.
That vision of the Prince of God I held
Until my soul was girded with the power
Of strange, new peace. When day shone o'er the hills,
Before the sun had risen to high noon,
Esau, the prince of Edom, was my friend,
Jacob was dead, and I was Israel.

Nought now remains to me of that old past
Save that I halt in life and limb. In life,
For lack of perfectness, in limb, because
The dews were chill that night in Gilead.
And now my tale is done, save one bright dream:
Thou seest Joseph here, my well-beloved,
Who by thy grace is raised to seats of power.
I loved his mother with so great a love
That when she died, ere that sad journey's close,
And I had piled a cairn beside the road
To mark her tomb at Bethlehem Ephrata,
Life lost its glory, save for those two sons
In whom I saw her face rejuvenate.
Yet seemed the world without her presence void;
Her love is still through all the lonely years
A fadeless memory, cherished beyond
All earthly joys. So, lonely here I wait
And pray my years be few, if, as some dream,
Sweet death shall bring the loved back to their own.
This is my dream, my hope, my prayer. O King,
Thou hast a human heart. . . . Forgive these tears.