Read Ebook: Provocations by Bristowe Sibyl Chesterton G K Gilbert Keith Author Of Introduction Etc

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Ebook has 264 lines and 19678 words, and 6 pages

Send Sorrow away, For she haunts me night and day. And Sorrow is dressed in grey, Yes, Sorrow is dressed in grey. And she looks so old, So drawn, so cold-- Send Sorrow away.

Alas!

So softly Time trod with me, that I lost His footsteps pacing mine. I stayed the while To wrest the luscious fruits from love and life; He strode on pauselessly, with thin cold smile.

So surely Time trod with me; marred my bloom, Stole all my roses, spread his cobwebs grey, Wrung all my tresses in his silvering hand; So stealthily he lured my youth away I only learned that I was old--to-day.

I could have borne it bravely, this I know, Had not the lips of children told me so.

A Sacrament

Tears!--And I brought them to the Lord, and said: "What are these crystal globes by nations shed?

What is the crimson flood that stains the land? Where is Thy peace, and where Thy guiding hand?

Why are those thousands daily sacrificed? Where is Thy might, and where the love of Christ?"

And from the heavens methought I heard a voice-- "Oh son of earth, I bid thee still rejoice!

Those crystal tears by men and nations shed Water My harvest, sanctify My dead.

That crimson flood which stains the hapless earth Is but the prelude to a nobler birth.

Those thousands, who for home have gladly died, Sleep in the hope of Jesus crucified.

Flesh, Blood, and Water, Little Child of Mine, Veil in their depths a Mystery divine."

I bowed my head, and prayed for faith to see The inner visions of Calamity!

The Love-shed Tear

Knocked a man at the shining Gate, Hard and bad and proud and old! Deep in years--for his call was late. The Gate was shut, and he had to wait, And he leaned awhile on his bag of gold.

Roll'd the Heavenly portals back, Guarded close by a flaming sword! The old man opened out his sack, Saint Peter searched the sordid pack, "Is this thy passport to the Lord?"

Saint Peter sighed, ill-gotten greed Was all therein to offer God, He vainly sought one kindly deed, One gentle word to those in need, One little step in mercy trod.

"Could I have found one single sign Of life within thy sordid soul, One kindling spark of Life Divine, The flames of hell had not been thine. Hence"--and he seal'd the Judgment scroll.

Down to the fires whose lurid light Lick'd and blazoned the depths of hell, Mocking red in the pitchy night, Down, ever down, from out God's sight, Down to the damned the Miser fell.

There in the haunts of deepest sin Satan watched with his sombre eye. The trembling Miser peered within, He thought to find his kith and kin Whose guilt condemned them too--to die.

He wandered round from place to place, Then beat his breast with wondering moan, For lo! of all the human race The Miser stood in hell--Alone! For all had found some saving grace That set them free to seek God's face And could their vilest sins atone.

He cowered low in abject fear, No single virtue could he plead, Satan's own--by self decreed! When sudden! 'neath a dastard deed, The devil cried, "What lieth here?" It was a single love-shed tear Shed in an hour of direst need.

Once he had wept in grief and pain, Once--when his child lay coldly dead, Once he had prayed. No prayer is vain. This prayer had lived to save again And bring remission on his head.

Only a tear! The Heavenly Choir Praised the Lord for the thing call'd love; But Satan shrieked in frenzied ire, "This foolish tear will quench my fire, This man must go above--above!"

Back again where the flaming sword Closely guarded the jewelled door. "I seek," he humbly sobbed, "our Lord. I brought Thee gold--a worthless hoard-- Thou wouldst not let me in before.

"But now I come to Thee with this-- A little thing, 'tis very small-- I pray Thee take it not amiss, My gold is in the dark abyss, This little tear, oh Lord, is all!"

There in the lowest halls of grace, Through deep remorse and pains austere He washed his soul from sin's dark trace, Then in his heart-felt awe and fear He lowly sought his Saviour's face, Saved to life through a love-shed tear!

Madonna Granduca and Child

Little Christ, little Christ, Sheltered there on Mary's breast, All Thy child-like purity Lightens life's obscurity, So I thank Thee For that ray of light confessed.

Sweet Thy mother, Baby Christ, Sweet in woman's modesty; But to such an one as me I would choose to kneel to Thee, To Thy young simplicity, To Thy full divinity, Little Christ.

Give me tears to keep me clean, Give me joyfulness serene, Steep me for futurity In Thy white-souled purity. For Thine innocence sufficed, Little Christ, little Christ, Vagrants like myself to bless, So I thank Thee For Thy perfect holiness, Little Christ.

A Vision of a Day that is Past

The sky hung smooth o'er the line of hill That shadowed the valley that seemed so still, And the blackbird whistled his love notes shrill.

The church lay dreaming of God, and when The bodies should rise from her graveyard pen Where the high grass covered her poor dead men.

The water meadows shone rich with gold, Gold that the buttercups had sold To the nibbling sheep of the red ring-fold.

And even the river murmured rest As the sun sank low in the tender west, And the earth flowers slept on their mother's breast.

Over the valley that seemed so still, Where the blackbird whistled his love-notes shrill I gazed, and all against my will I saw a vision beneath the hill.

Centuries passed like a mist away And I stood in the glare of a burning day Whilst the church-bells clamoured a call to pray.

War and its brother raced hand in hand, That brother called Death; and they seared the land With their fiery breath and the murder brand.

And copses and dales were bleeding red, Naught was sacred, the living or dead, The old, old man, or the girl just wed.

Men stormed the homestead, blazed the corn, Pillaged and sacked from night till morn, And spitted the babe that was newly born.

Savage and brutal, like hell-hounds freed, They swarmed the hill, debauched with greed-- Some slunk behind, their lust to feed.

At last, when the streams ran human blood, Soaking the fields in a scarlet flood, A woman prayed with her child for food.

All on their way those soldiers passed With a foetid jest at her hapless fast, And some men cut her down at last.

They cut her down! Oh, woe is me, And they left her to rot in her misery, Naked and scorned for the world to see.

They left her bare in the cold night air, Save only the comb in her coal-black hair, And they strangled the baby, helpless there.

They did not trouble to wind them round In a sheet of earth in the dewy ground, They looted them both for the spoil they found.

But the wind was kind. It wailed aloud And churned the dust, till it rose a cloud like a pearly mist, to form a shroud.

And the leaves swooned down to the wind's sweet call And covered the mother and babe and all, Till they lay at peace in a soft green pall.

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