THEY climbed the Eastern slope | |
| Which leads from Jordan up to Olivet; | |
| And they who earlier dreams could not forget | |
| Were flushed with eager hope. | |
| |
| They gained the crest, and lo! | 5 |
| The marble temple in the sunset gleamed, | |
| And golden light upon its turrets streamed, | |
| As on the stainless snow. | |
| |
| They shout for joy of heart, | |
| But He, the King, looks on as one in grief; | 10 |
| To heart o’erburdened weeping brings relief | |
| The unbidden tear-drops start: | |
| |
| “Ah, had’st thou known, e’en thou | |
| In this thy day the things that make for peace;” | |
| Alas! no strivings now can work release, | 15 |
| The night is closing now. | |
| |
| On all thy high estate, | |
| Thy temple-courts and palaces of pride, | |
| Thy pleasant pictures and thy markets wide, | |
| Is written now “Too late.” | 20 |
| |
| Time was there might have been | |
| The waking up to life of higher mood, | |
| The knowledge of the only Wise and Good, | |
| Within thy portals seen; | |
| |
| But now the past is past, | 25 |
| The last faint light by blackening clouds is hid; | |
| Thy heaped-up sins each hope of grace forbid, | |
| The sky is all o’ercast; | |
| |
| And soon from out the cloud | |
| Will burst the storm that lays thee low in dust, | 30 |
| Till shrine and palace, homes of hate and lust, | |
| Are wrapt in fiery shroud. | |
| |
| And is it not so still? | |
| He looks on Churches, Nations, and he grieves, | |
| When each its own true path of wisdom leaves, | 35 |
| To work completest ill. | |
| |
| Thou Mother of the East, | |
| Church of the Basils, Clement, Athanase, | |
| How art thou fallen, holiest turned to base, | |
| The greatest to the least! | 40 |
| |
| Thou would’st not turn aside | |
| From endless wranglings of a wisdom vain, | |
| And so the sword of Islam smote in twain | |
| Thy glory and thy pride. | |
| |
| And thou, the nation’s Queen, | 45 |
| Throned in the West, the Seven proud hills thy home, | |
| Heir of the might of old imperial Rome, | |
| What end for thee is seen? | |
| |
| Thou too hast had thy day, | |
| The call to turn from darkness to the light, | 50 |
| From fraud and force, false creed and idol rite, | |
| To Truth’s keen searching ray. | |
| |
| Thou did’st not, would’st not know | |
| What made for life, and purity, and peace, | |
| And now each year the guilt and gloom increase, | 55 |
| Sure presage of great woe. | |
| |
| Thine evil choice was made, | |
| Thou fain would’st queen it o’er the nations round, | |
| And now they bring thy Babel to the ground, | |
| And thou in dust art laid. | 60 |
| |
| And thou too, Mother mine, | |
| Church of our fathers, wilt thou close thine eyes, | |
| Turn from the light, refusing to be wise, | |
| Till sleep of death is Thine? | |
| |
| Fierce wranglings, hot debate, | 65 |
| Distrust of all the progress of the years, | |
| Vain clinging to the past, and groundless fears, | |
| Is this thy final state? | |
| |
| Oh, wake, repent, and live, | |
| Ere all thy foes shall hem thee round about; | 70 |
| False friends within, and tempest storms without, | |
| All signs their warning give. | |
| |
| Ah! if the blest can weep | |
| As they behold upon the sea of glass, | |
| The mirrored forms of Earth’s great story pass, | 75 |
| Like shadows o’er the deep. | |
| |
| Sure now they mourn and wail | |
| O’er barren strife, false zeal, and wasted strength: | |
| Wilt thou not wake, arise, and claim at length, | |
| The life that shall not fail? | 80 |
| |
| Rise—thy sun is not yet set | |
| Though thick the mist, and dark the future’s path, | |
| And all around are signs of gathering wrath, | |
| The light is with thee yet. | |
| |
| Only be true, be bold, | 85 |
| Bridge the broad gulf that widens every hour, | |
| Face coming dangers, keep thy ancient dower, | |
| Unite the new and old. | |
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