At Golgotha I stood alone,
And trembled in the empty night:
The shadow of a cross was shown
And Christ thereon who died upright.
The shadow murmured as I went,
‘I cannot see thee,—who art thou?
Art thou my friend? or art thou sent
In hate to rail upon me now?
‘I cannot see thee. Art thou one
Of those I lived to save,—and saved?
I saved thee; but the sands that run
Have filled the trace of words engraved.
‘I wrote with finger on the ground
One pardon, then with blood on wood.
The priests and elders waited round,
But none could read of all that stood.
‘None read, and now I linger here,
Only the ghost of one who died,
For God forsakes me, and the spear
Runs ever cold into my side.
‘I have believed in thee when then
Thou wert not born, nor might I tell
Thy face among the souls of men
Unborn, but yet I loved thee well.
‘Pity me now for this my death;
Love me a little for my love,
I loved and died, the story saith,
And telleth over and above
‘Of all my early days of want,
And days of work, and then the end,
But telleth not how still I haunt
My place of death and seek a friend.
‘My God who lived in me to bless
The earth He made has passed away;
And left me here companionless,
A weary spectre night and day.
‘I am the Ghost of Christ the Less,
Jesus the man, whose ghost was bound
And banished in the wilderness
And trodden deep beneath the ground.
‘I saw him go, and cried to him,
“Eli, thou hast forsaken me!”
The nails were burning through each limb:
He fled to find felicity.
‘Ah! then I knew the foolish wrong
That I upon myself had wrought,
Then floated off that Spirit strong
That once had seemed my own heart's thought.
‘Where is the life I might have known
If God had never lit on me?
I might have loved one heart alone,
A woman white as chastity.
‘I might have hated devils and fled
Whene'er they came. I might have turned
From sinners, and I might have led
A life where no sin-knowledge burned.
‘But between voice and voice I chose,
Of these two selves and clave to this:—
Who left me here where no man knows,
And fled to dwell with light in bliss.
‘And left me here with wound of spears,
A cast-off ghostly shade to rave,
And haunt the place for endless years,
Crying, “Himself he cannot save!”’
So spoke the ghost of Joseph's son
Haunting the place where Christ was slain.
I pray that e'er this world be done,
Christ may relieve his piteous pain.
And trembled in the empty night:
The shadow of a cross was shown
And Christ thereon who died upright.
The shadow murmured as I went,
‘I cannot see thee,—who art thou?
Art thou my friend? or art thou sent
In hate to rail upon me now?
‘I cannot see thee. Art thou one
Of those I lived to save,—and saved?
I saved thee; but the sands that run
Have filled the trace of words engraved.
‘I wrote with finger on the ground
One pardon, then with blood on wood.
The priests and elders waited round,
But none could read of all that stood.
‘None read, and now I linger here,
Only the ghost of one who died,
For God forsakes me, and the spear
Runs ever cold into my side.
‘I have believed in thee when then
Thou wert not born, nor might I tell
Thy face among the souls of men
Unborn, but yet I loved thee well.
‘Pity me now for this my death;
Love me a little for my love,
I loved and died, the story saith,
And telleth over and above
‘Of all my early days of want,
And days of work, and then the end,
But telleth not how still I haunt
My place of death and seek a friend.
‘My God who lived in me to bless
The earth He made has passed away;
And left me here companionless,
A weary spectre night and day.
‘I am the Ghost of Christ the Less,
Jesus the man, whose ghost was bound
And banished in the wilderness
And trodden deep beneath the ground.
‘I saw him go, and cried to him,
“Eli, thou hast forsaken me!”
The nails were burning through each limb:
He fled to find felicity.
‘Ah! then I knew the foolish wrong
That I upon myself had wrought,
Then floated off that Spirit strong
That once had seemed my own heart's thought.
‘Where is the life I might have known
If God had never lit on me?
I might have loved one heart alone,
A woman white as chastity.
‘I might have hated devils and fled
Whene'er they came. I might have turned
From sinners, and I might have led
A life where no sin-knowledge burned.
‘But between voice and voice I chose,
Of these two selves and clave to this:—
Who left me here where no man knows,
And fled to dwell with light in bliss.
‘And left me here with wound of spears,
A cast-off ghostly shade to rave,
And haunt the place for endless years,
Crying, “Himself he cannot save!”’
So spoke the ghost of Joseph's son
Haunting the place where Christ was slain.
I pray that e'er this world be done,
Christ may relieve his piteous pain.