"The Heretic's Tragedy: A Middle-Age Interlude" The Lord, we look to once for all, Is the Lord we should look at, all at once: He knows not to vary, saith Saint Paul, Nor the shadow of turning, for the nonce. See him no other than as he is! Give both the infinitudes their due-- Infinite mercy, but, I wis, As infinite a justice too. As infinite a justice too. John, Master of the Temple of God, Falling to sin the Unknown Sin, What he bought of Emperor Aldabrod, He sold it to Sultan Saladin: Till, caught by Pope Clement, a-buzzing there, Hornet-prince of the mad wasps' hive, And clipt of his wings in Paris square, They bring him now to be burned alive. [And wanteth there grace of lute or clavicithern, ye shall say to confirm him who singeth-- We bring John now to be burned alive. In the midst is a goodly gallows built; 'Twixt fork and fork, a stake is stuck; But first they set divers tumbrils a-tilt, Make a trench all round with the city muck; Inside they pile log upon log, good store; Faggots no few, blocks great and small, Reach a man's mid-thigh, no less, no more,-- For they mean he should roast in the sight of all. We mean he should roast in the sight of all. Good sappy bavins that kindle forthwith; Billets that blaze substantial and slow; Pine-stump split deftly, dry as pith; Larch-heart that chars to a chalk-white glow: They up they hoist me John in a chafe, Sling him fast like a hog to scorch, Spit in his face, then leap back safe, Sing "Laudes" and bid clap-to the torch. Laus deo--who bids clap-to the torch. John of the Temple, whose fame so bragged, Is burning alive in Paris square! How can he curse, if his mouth is gagged? Or wriggle his neck, with a collar there? Or heave his chest, which a band goes round? Or threat with his fist, since his arms are spliced? Or kick with his feet, now his legs are bound? --Thinks John, I will call upon Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ--John had bought and sold, Jesus Christ--John had eaten and drunk; To him, the Flesh meant silver and gold. (Salva reverentia.) Now it was, "Saviour, bountiful lamb, "I have roasted thee Turks, though men roast me! "See thy servant, the plight wherein I am! "Art thou a saviour? Save thou me!" 'Tis John the mocker cries, "Save thou me!" Who maketh God's menace an idle word? --Saith, it no more means what it proclaims, Than a damsel's threat to her wanton bird? For she too prattles of ugly names. --Saith, he knoweth but one thing--what he knows? That God is good and the rest is breath; Why else is the same styled Sharon's rose? Once a rose, ever a rose, he saith. O, John shall yet find a rose, he saith! Alack, there be roses and roses, John! Some, honied of taste like your leman's tongue: Some, bitter; for why? (roast gaily on!) Their tree struck root in devil's-dung. When Paul once reasoned of righteousness And of temperance and of judgment to come, Good Felix trembled, he could no less: John, snickering, crook'd his wicked thumb. What cometh to John of the wicked thumb? Ha ha, John plucketh now at his rose To rid himself of a sorrow at heart! Lo,--petal on petal, fierce rays unclose; Anther on anther, sharp spikes outstart; And with blood for dew, the bosom boils; And a gust of sulphur is all its smell; And lo, he is horribly in the toils Of a coal-black giant flower of hell! What maketh heaven, That maketh hell. So, as John called now, through the fire amain, On the Name, he had cursed with, all his life-- To the Person, he bought and sold again-- For the Face, with his daily buffets rife-- Feature by feature It took its place: And his voice, like a mad dog's choking bark, At the steady whole of the Judge's face-- Died. Forth John's soul flared into the dark. God help all poor souls lost in the dark! — Robert Browning #poemoftheday #cityvibes #kericho