Page:Poems Jackson.djvu/189

This king, this royal, simple king,
Whose kingliness I kneel to sing,
Looks on all other men with eyes
Which are as calm as suns that rise
Alike, and bring an equal gain
To just and unjust. Like soft rain
His gentle kindliness, but deep
As waters, in which oceans keep
Their treasures. Silent, warm, and white
As mid-day is his love's great light;
But in its faithful summer saves
For every smallest flower that waves
Such shelter that it cannot die
Nor droop, while love's fierce noons pass by.

This king, this royal, simple king,
Whose kingliness I cannot sing,
Speaks words which are decrees, because
They come as questions, not as laws.
Himself devoutest worshipper
At Truth's great shrine, his least acts stir
The people's hearts, as when of old
The High Priest, lifting veil of gold,
Came from the ark's most sacred place,
And only by his shining face
Revealed to them without that he
Had seen the Godhead bodily.
Men serve him; but while they obey
Feel no oppression in the sway.
His royal hand is burdened too;
No load of theirs to him is new;
No sting or stigma in a bond