Page:Dreams and Images.djvu/280

That feels the sentence and the curse
Ye died if so ye might reverse.
When God was stolen from out man's mouth,

Stolen was the bread; then hunger and drouth
Went to and fro; began the wail,
Struck root the poor-house and the jail,
Ere cut the dykes, let through that flood,
Ye writ the protest with your blood;
Against this night—wherein our breath
Withers, and the toiled heart perisheth,—
Entered the caveat of your death.
Christ in the form of His true Bride,
Again hung pierced and crucified,
And groaned, "I thirst!" Not still ye stood,—
Ye had your hearts, ye had your blood;
And pouring out the eager cup,—
"The wine is weak, yet, Lord Christ, sup."
Ah, blest! who bathed the parched Vine
With richer than His Cana-wine,
And heard, your most sharp supper past:
"Ye kept the best wine to the last!"

Ah, happy who
That sequestered secret knew,
How sweeter than bee-haunted dells
The blosmy blood of martyrs smells!
Who did upon the scaffold's bed,
The ceremonial steel between you, wed
With God's grave proxy, high and reverend Death;
Or felt about your neck, sweetly,
(While the dull horde
Saw but the unrelenting cord)