That Faith which only justifies
A sinner as in guilt he lies,
Bow'd aneath the awful blood,
Clinging to the uplifted rood,
Is not alone so as nor Love
Nor heavenly Hope may in it move,
To thrill with touch of ecstasy
The bruised heart, the swimming eye.
What, censor! bitter to ill end,
Dost thou thy dogma still defend?
And wouldest thou to hands allied
Mutual sceptres see denied,
Snapping betwixt Faith and Love
The tie that binds them from Above?
I tell thee nay, stone-hearted one,
The Faith of Christ is not alone:
Take Faith away, and Love will sigh;
Take Hope away, and Faith will die;
Take Faith away, Love will do naught;
Take Love away, and Faith's distraught:
For I tell thee, vain sophister,
They're as sister unto sister.
But mark, this Love that brings Faith joy
Is not blind Cupid. Ah, bright Boy,
Begone; thou shalt not, wouldst thou, stay;
Go, get thee swift from light o' day;
Go, get thee now to the vast shades,
And there indulge thy escapades:
Thou in Elysian realms mayst reign
A fitting deity, not vain:
Go therefore, and with thee thy bow
And quiver. Well it is below
That these for thee shall form a pyre,
To which thy torch will furnish fire.
But, ah, thou hast a heart of stone,
Who wouldest make Faith live alone,
Loos'ning the sweet ties Love has found
To bind Faith to her, herself bound.
O, it is cruel thus to sever
Sisters whom God hath joined ever;
Whose clasped hands so closely cling,
E'en as vine-tendrils ring on ring:
You may not tell there's more than one,
So absolute the union.
Where shall you find beneath the sky
Two differing so variously,
And yet each life in other bound,
Touch one, the other you shall wound:
Or where, 'mid all the pairs on earth,
Twins through marriage or through birth,
Shall you find two so truly one?
Arms twining in affection,
They clasp each other, chin to chin,
Above, below, without, within,
Embracing and embrac'd by turns;
Yet not with such wild-fire as burns
In Lust's hot touch, and clasp and grasp
Eager and stinging as tongue of asp.
Not so closely interwine
The graceful Elm and clinging Vine,
When to bosom of the tree
Bacchus' clusters prest you see,
And the Nymph the fruit receives,
And hides it amid dewy leaves;
Ev'n as the poets tell of old,
In legends of the Age of Gold.
Faith and Love know no such flame,
Their pure twining brings no shame;
Look for taint, you'll find it missing:
'Tis as flower flower kissing;
Or twin-roses dewy dripping,
And twin-bees their honey sipping.
The Turtle-dove, robb'd of her mate,
Pines and mourns disconsolate;
Yet still lives on in widow'd grief,
Knowing at times Hope's sweet relief.
But Faith when once of Love bereft
Loses her all, has nothing left;
Nor mourns nor frets nor pales--she's dead,
Struck to the heart astonied.
The Palm that by the wintry blast
Sees her companion-tree downcast,
Whose mighty shadow o'er her threw
Protection when the fierce storm blew;
Her umbrage sheds, and quivering
Seeks that some fav'ring wind would bring
Her branches with his boughs to mingle,
Since she is left in sadness, single;
Wretched, she wears and wastes away,
Leaf following leaf in wan decay,
Until at last, naked and bare,
She shivers in the piercing air;
And when the Spring comes, Winter sped,
'Tis vain to call her--she is dead!
But when Love from Faith is gone,
Faith lingers not still on and on;
That while her form yet meets your eye,
You can pronounce 'She'll surely die.'
SHE'S DEAD i' the instant: or you will
Maintain a stark corpse liveth still,
Whose soul has pass'd beyond the sky,
Sunder'd until the last great Cry.
Faith is the body, Love the soul;
Take Love from it, you take the whole:
Now, now indeed thy Faith's alone,
But being alone, lo, it is none.
To make it clear, turn Homer's page
That paints Achilles' hate and rage,
When, having mighty Hector slain,
He dragg'd him dead over the plain--
That Hector whom the chariot feels
Dragg'd helpless, lifeless at its wheels,
Was it the same who, with proud crest,
That chariot's lord had lately prest,
Eager the victory to wrest?
Hercules' name and deeds dost see
In Oeta's bloody tragedy,
When dead the mighty hero lay,
Of jealousy the poison'd prey.
His living strength the lion slew,
And hide Nemaean round him threw:
'Gainst more than lion-rage of Death
Dost summon the sad corpse of Faith?
Sure Love with love for Faith will burn,
While Faith herself trusts Love in turn.