Poems (Cook)/"He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone"
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"HE THAT IS WITHOUT SIN AMONG YOU, LET HIM FIRST CAST A STONE."—St. John viii. 7.
Beautiful eloquence, thou speakest low;
But the world's clashing cannot still thy tones:
Thou livest, as the stream with gentle flow
Lives in the battle-field of strife and groans.
Thine is the language of a simple creed,
Whose saving might has no priest-guarded bound:
If soundly learn'd, say would the martyr bleed,
Or such dense shadows fall on "hallow'd ground?"
Oh, how we boast our knowledge of "the Right;"
But blast the Christian grain with Conduct's blight!
But the world's clashing cannot still thy tones:
Thou livest, as the stream with gentle flow
Lives in the battle-field of strife and groans.
Thine is the language of a simple creed,
Whose saving might has no priest-guarded bound:
If soundly learn'd, say would the martyr bleed,
Or such dense shadows fall on "hallow'd ground?"
Oh, how we boast our knowledge of "the Right;"
But blast the Christian grain with Conduct's blight!
'Tis well to ask our Maker to "forgive
Our trespasses;" but 'tis as we may bear
The trespasses of those who breathe and live
Amid the same Temptation, Doubt, and Care.
Oh ye who point so often to the herd,
Whose dark and evil works are all uncloak'd;
Is there no other than condemning word
For minds untaught and spirits sorely yoked?
Are ye quite sure no hidden leper taint
Blurs your own skin, if we look through the paint!
Our trespasses;" but 'tis as we may bear
The trespasses of those who breathe and live
Amid the same Temptation, Doubt, and Care.
Oh ye who point so often to the herd,
Whose dark and evil works are all uncloak'd;
Is there no other than condemning word
For minds untaught and spirits sorely yoked?
Are ye quite sure no hidden leper taint
Blurs your own skin, if we look through the paint!
Ye throw from ambush!—let Truth's noontide light
Flash on the strength that nerves such eager aims;
Bring pigmy greatness from its giant height;
Where would be then the splendour of your names?
Ye harsh denouncers, 'tis an easy thing
To wrap yourselves in Cunning's specious robes,
And sharpen all the polish'd blades ye fling,
As though ye held diploma for the probes:
But if the charlatan and knave were dropp'd,
Some spreading trees would be most closely lopp'd.
Flash on the strength that nerves such eager aims;
Bring pigmy greatness from its giant height;
Where would be then the splendour of your names?
Ye harsh denouncers, 'tis an easy thing
To wrap yourselves in Cunning's specious robes,
And sharpen all the polish'd blades ye fling,
As though ye held diploma for the probes:
But if the charlatan and knave were dropp'd,
Some spreading trees would be most closely lopp'd.
Ye, that so fiercely show your warring teeth
At every other being on your way;
Is your own sword so stainless in its sheath,
That ye can justify the braggart fray?
The tricks of policy—the hold of place—
The dulcet jargon of a courtly rote—
The sleek and smiling mask upon the face—
The eye that sparkles but to hide its note—
Tell me, ye worms, could ye well bear the rub
That tore these silken windings from the grub?
At every other being on your way;
Is your own sword so stainless in its sheath,
That ye can justify the braggart fray?
The tricks of policy—the hold of place—
The dulcet jargon of a courtly rote—
The sleek and smiling mask upon the face—
The eye that sparkles but to hide its note—
Tell me, ye worms, could ye well bear the rub
That tore these silken windings from the grub?
Ye lips that gloat upon a brother's sin,
With moral mouthing in the whisper'd speech;
Methinks I've seen the poison-fang within,
Betray the viper rather than the leech.
I've mark'd the frailties of some gifted one,
Blazon'd with prudent doubt and virtuous sigh;
But through the whining cant of saintly tone,
Heard Joy give Pity the exulting lie;
As if it were a pleasant thing to find
The racer stumbling, and the gazehound blind.
With moral mouthing in the whisper'd speech;
Methinks I've seen the poison-fang within,
Betray the viper rather than the leech.
I've mark'd the frailties of some gifted one,
Blazon'd with prudent doubt and virtuous sigh;
But through the whining cant of saintly tone,
Heard Joy give Pity the exulting lie;
As if it were a pleasant thing to find
The racer stumbling, and the gazehound blind.
Too proud, too ignorant,—too mighty Man,—
Why dost thou so forget the lesson taught?
Why not let Mercy cheer our human span?
Ye say ye serve Christ—heed him as ye ought:
He did not goad the weeping child of clay;
He heap'd no coals upon the erring head;
Fix'd no despair upon the sinner's way;
And dropp'd no gall upon the sinner's bread:
He heard Man's cry for Vengeance, but he flung,
Man's Conscience at the yell; and hush'd the tongue.
Why dost thou so forget the lesson taught?
Why not let Mercy cheer our human span?
Ye say ye serve Christ—heed him as ye ought:
He did not goad the weeping child of clay;
He heap'd no coals upon the erring head;
Fix'd no despair upon the sinner's way;
And dropp'd no gall upon the sinner's bread:
He heard Man's cry for Vengeance, but he flung,
Man's Conscience at the yell; and hush'd the tongue.
Great teaching from a greater teacher—fit
To breathe alike to Infancy and Age:
No garbled mystery o'ershadows it;
And noblest hearts have deepest read the page.
Carve it upon the mart and temple arch;
Let our fierce Judges read it as they go;
Make it the key-note of Life's pompous march;
And trampling steps will be more soft and slow:
For God's own voice says from the Eternal throne,
"Let him that is without sin cast the stone."
To breathe alike to Infancy and Age:
No garbled mystery o'ershadows it;
And noblest hearts have deepest read the page.
Carve it upon the mart and temple arch;
Let our fierce Judges read it as they go;
Make it the key-note of Life's pompous march;
And trampling steps will be more soft and slow:
For God's own voice says from the Eternal throne,
"Let him that is without sin cast the stone."