[from Collected Works, T.E.Brown]


HIGH stretched upon the swinging yard,
I gather in the sheet ;
But it is hard
And stiff, and one cries haste.
Then He that is most dear in my regard
Of all the crew gives aidance meet ;
But from His hands, and from His feet,
A glory spreads wherewith the night is starred
Moreover of a cup most bitter-sweet
With fragrance as of nard,
And myrrh, and cassia spiced,
He proffers me to taste.
Then I to Him :—" Art Thou the Christ?"
He saith—" Thou say’st."

Like to an ox
That staggers ‘neath the mortal blow,
She grinds upon the rocks :—
Then straight and low
Leaps forth the levelled line, and in our quarter locks.
The cradle’s rigged ; with swerving of the blast
We go,
Our Captain last—
" Who fired that shot ? "
Each silent stands—
Ah, sweet perplexity!
This too was He.

I have an arbour wherein came a toad
Most hideous to see—
Immediate, seizing staff or goad,
I smote it cruelly.
Then all the place with subtle radiance glowed—
I looked, and it was He!


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Any comments, errors or omissions gratefully received The Editor
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