We built; and those who built not, they Brought us their blessing day by day, And lingered to rejoice and pray.
For years the masons toiled, for years The craftsmen wrought till they had made A church we scarce could see for tears-- Its fairness made our love afraid.
Its clear-cut cream-white tracery Stood out against the deep bright sky Like good deeds "gainst eternity.
In the deep roof each separate beam Had its own garland--ivy, vine,-- Giving to man the carver"s dream, In sight of men a certain sign-- And all day long the workers plied.
"The church shall finished be," we cried, "And consecrate by Easter-tide."
Our church! It was so fair, so dear, So fit a church to praise G.o.d in!
It had such show of carven gear, Such chiselled work, without, within!
Such marble for the steps and floor, Such window-jewels and such store Of gold and gems the altar bore!
Each stone by loving hands was hewn, By loving hands each beam was sawn; The hammers made a merry tune In winter dusk and summer dawn.
Love built the house, but gold had paid For that wherewith the house was made.
"Would love had given all!" we said.
But poor in all save love were we, And he was poor in all save gold Who gave the gold. By usury Were gained his riches manifold.
We knew that? If we knew, we thought "Tis good if men do good in aught, And by good works may heaven be bought!
At last the echo died in air Of the last stroke. The silence then Pa.s.sed in to fill the church, left bare Of the loving voice of Christian men.
The silence saddened all the sun, So gladly was our work begun.
Now all that happy work was done.
Did any voices in the night Call through those arches? Were there wings That swept between the pillars white-- Wide pinions of unvisioned things?
The priests who watched the relics heard Wing-whispers--not of bat or bird-- And moan of inarticulate word.
Then sunlight, morning, and sweet air Adorned our church, and there were borne Great sheaves of boughs of blossoms fair To grace the consecration morn.
Then round our church trooped knight and dame; Within, alone, the bishop came, And the twelve candles leaped to flame.
Then round our church the bishop went With all his priests--a brave array.
There was no sign nor portent sent As, glad at heart, he went his way, Sprinkling the holy water round Three times on walls and crowd and ground Within the churchyard"s sacred bound.
Then--but ye know the function"s scope At consecration--all the show Of torch and incense, stole and cope; And how the acolytes do go Before the bishop--how they bear The lighted tapers, flaming fair, Blown back by the sweet wavering air.
The bishop, knocking at the door, The deacon answering from within, "Lift up your heads, ye gates, be sure The King of Glory shall come in"-- The bishop pa.s.sed in with the choir.
Thank G.o.d for this--our soul"s desire, Our altar, meet for heaven"s fire!
The bishop, kneeling in his place Where our bright windows made day dim, With all heaven"s glory in his face, Began the consecration hymn: "_Veni_," he sang, in clear strong tone.
Then--on the instant--song was done, Its very echo scattered--gone!
For, as the bishop"s voice rang clear, Another voice rang clearer still-- A voice wherein the soul could hear The discord of unmeasured ill-- And sudden breathless silence fell On all the church. And I wot well There are such silences in h.e.l.l.
Taper and torch died down--went out-- And all our church grew dark and cold, And deathly odours crept about, And chill, as of the churchyard mould; And every flower drooped its head, And all the rose"s leaves were shed, And all the lilies dropped down dead.
There, in the bishop"s chair, we saw-- How can I tell you? Memories shrink To mix anew the cup of awe We shuddering mortals had to drink.
What was it? There! The shape that stood Before the altar and the rood-- It was not human flesh and blood!
A light more bright than any sun, A shade more dark than any night, A shape that human shape was none, A cloud, a sense of winged might, And, like an infernal trumpet sound, Rang through the church"s hush profound A voice. We listened horror-bound.
"_Venio!_ Cease, cease to consecrate!
Love built the church, but it is mine!
"Tis built of stone hewn out by hate, Cemented by man"s blood divine.
Whence came the gold that paid for this?
From pillage of the poor, I wis-- That gold was mine, and mine this is!
"Your King has cursed the usurer"s gold, He gives it to me for my fee!
Your church is builded, but behold Your church is fair for me--for me!
Who robs the poor to me is given; Impenitent and unforgiven, His church is built for h.e.l.l, not heaven!"
Then, as we gazed, the face grew clear, And all men stood as turned to stone; Each man beheld through dews of fear A face--his own--yet not his own; His own face, darkened, lost, debased, With h.e.l.l"s own signet stamped and traced, And all the G.o.d in it effaced.
A crash like thunder shook the walls, A flame like lightning shot them through: "Fly, fly before the judgment falls, And all the stones be fallen on you!"
And as we fled we saw bright gleams Of fire leap out "mid joists and beams.
Our church! Oh, love--oh, hopes--oh, dreams!
We stood without--a pallid throng-- And as the flame leaped high and higher, Shrill winds we heard that rushed along And fanned the transports of the fire.
The sky grew black; against the sky The blue and scarlet flames leaped high, And cries as of lost souls wailed by.
The church in glowing vesture stood, The lead ran down as it were wax, The great stones cracked and burned like wood, The wood caught fire and flamed like flax: A horrid chequered light and shade, By smoke and flame alternate made, Upon men"s upturned faces played.
Down crashed the walls. Our lovely spire-- A blackened ruin--fell and lay.
The very earth about caught fire, And flame-tongues licked along the clay.
The fire did neither stay nor spare Till the foundations were laid bare To the hot, sickened, smoke-filled air.
There in the sight of men it lay, Our church that we had made so fair!
A heap of ashes white and gray, With sparks still gleaming here and there.
The sun came out again, and shone On all our loving work undone-- Our church destroyed, our labour gone!
Gone? Is it gone? G.o.d knows it, no!
The hands that builded built aright: The men who loved and laboured so, Their church is built in heaven"s height!
In every stone a glittering gem, Gold in the gold Jerusalem-- The church their love built waits for them.
LOVE IN JUNE.
Through the glowing meadows aflame With b.u.t.tercup gold I came To the green, still heart of the wood.
A wood-pigeon cooed and cooed, The hazel-stems grew close, Like leaves round the heart of a rose, Round the still, green nest that I chose.
Then I gathered the bracken that grew In a fairy forest all round, And I laid it in heaps on the ground With gra.s.s and blossoms and leaves.
I gathered the summer in sheaves, And pale, rare roses a few, And spread out a carpet meet For the touch of my lady"s feet.
I waited; the wood was still; Only one little brown bird On a hazel swayed and stirred With the impulse of his song; And I waited, and time was long.
Then I heard a step on the gra.s.s In the path where the others pa.s.s, And a voice like a voice in a dream; And I saw a glory, a gleam, A flash of white through the green (Her arms and her gown are white); And the summer sighed her name As she and the sunshine came: O sun and blue sky and delight!
O eyes and lips of my queen!
What was done there or said No one will ever know, For n.o.body saw or heard Save one little, brown, bright bird Who swayed on a twig overhead, And he will never betray; But all who pa.s.s by that way, As they near the spot where we lay Among the blossoms and gra.s.s Where the leaves and the ferns lay thick (Though it lies out of reach, out of sight Of the path where the world may pa.s.s), Feel their heart and their pulse beat quick In a measure that rhymes with the leaves and flowers, That rhymes with the summer and sun, With the lover to win or won, With the wild-flower crown of delight, The crown of love that was ours.