R. Howard Spring
Earth stopped her breathing, knowing then
The seed of God sown among men.
We rocked the steeple on Easter day
When Christ the Spirit broke the clay
In glory of yellow daffodils
And holy laughter of dancing rills.
The Bells:
O men who tear us from our place on high
To make us messengers of hate and death,
Thus you uproot the holy lily-flower
And hug a dry and tinkling husk that holds
No spirit essential and no soul of grace.
Thus you tear out the heart from Sharon's rose,
And only thorns remain to make a crown
To lacerate afresh the brow of Christ.
The tower remains, the shell that th' outward eye
May see and reverence as a God's abode.
But O ye happy ones whose inward eye
Not unillumined is, pass by and say:
Here lies the clay inanimate by fire;
Here stands the empty stall that has no choir;
Here die the lives from which the God has fled.
Behold! The Christ steals by with bleeding head.
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