Classic Poem

When Jove in Heaven, and Pluto ruled in Hell,
Man, walking in a haze,
Exceeding good, or did exceeding ill.

So, when he came to Dis,
And man must face his three infernal judges,
Having greatly done amiss,
The devils grin, and fellow fellow nudges.

They say that many a prince
Came with such load of crime upon his back,
That Tartarus would rinse
His jaws, that Hell would shudder and be black.

First Aeacus would hear the tale
Against the sinner of his sin,
And for a pain condemn the pale
Ghost to the lower court, wherein

Dread Minos gave a like award,
And sent him Rhadamanthusward.

There was no pain for man that Hell could reach
Like this pain. Yet the devils would beseech

Their master, and entreat the Dreadful One
To judge as strangely as the thing was done.

Then Pluto judged; that is to say, his face was bare;
Whereof I may not tell if it were harsh or fair;

But this I may: a man might howl a space
Of many years who once had seen his face.

My patron came to Heaven; he touched the door,
And stood within the same.
The guardian greeted him, and walked before,
And called him by his name:
" Heaven waited for thy coming, sweet Saint John;
Thy road lies bright before thee; pass thou on. "
Humbly my patron answered him: " Nay sir;
I need but little space; I will not stir. "
" He waits in state for thee who is thy home:
Thou wilt not keep him waiting, brother; come. "
He met the Lover of the Dark Night's tryst;
Saint John was folded in the hands of Christ.
He lay upon their wounds, and wept the whole
Of longing that was in his holy soul
Those molten hands were silent. And made speech:
" Weep not for us, sweet Pity, lest thou teach
Us even greater sorrow than our own;
The angels weep not, nor doth Heaven make moan.
'Twas we who made thee, holiest of thy kind;
Who touched thy little eyes, and made them blind.
Dying, the darkness of thy glorious night
Was we about thee, covering the light.
Pass on; his Passion cannot be denied "
And John was locked within the riven Side.
The Wound said: " Sleep, beloved, and be calm;
I, in thy flesh, made wounds upon thee balm.
My torrent poured for thee; thou art my son;
I ached for this dear hour, my darling one.
Thou wert a proper vessel for the Wine
I gave thee to dispense, thou son of mine.
Now would my love for ever close upon
Thee; but thy house is greater; pass thou on. "
And John was cradled in the Sacred Heart,
Than which no mansion is more glorious.
O friar of sweet counsel, where thou art,
John of the Cross, my patron, pray for us.