I tore this weed from the rank, dark soil Where it grew in the monkish time, I trimmed it close and set it again In a border of modern rhyme.
A breeze as pure as the breath of Heaven Blew fresh through the cloister-shades, A sky as glad as the smile of Heaven Blushed rose o'er the minster-glades.
But scorning the lures of summer and sense, The monks passed on in their walk; Their eyes were abased, their senses slept, Their souls were in their talk.
In the tough grim talk of the monkish days They hammered and slashed about, - Dry husks of logic,— old scraps of creed, - And the cold gray dreams of doubt, -
And whether Just or Justified Was the Church's mystic Head, - And whether the Bread was changed to God, Or God became the Bread.
But of human hearts outside their walls They never paused to dream, And they never thought of the love of God That smiled in the twilight gleam.
A wordless carol of life and love, Of nature free and wild; And the three monks paused in the evening shade, Looked up at each other and smiled.
And tender and gay the bird sang on, And cooed and whistled and trilled, And the wasteful wealth of life and love From his happy heart was spilled.
The song had power on the grim old monks In the light of the rosy skies; And as they listened the years rolled back, And tears came into their eyes.
The years rolled back and they were young, With the hearts and hopes of men, They plucked the daisies and kissed the girls Of dear dead summers again.
“Perchance the Enemy of Souls Hath come to tempt us so. Let us try by the power of the Awful Word If it be he, or no!”
To Heaven the three monks raised their hands; “We charge thee, speak!” they said, “By His dread Name who shall one day come To judge the quick and the dead, -
“Who art thou? Speak!” The bird laughed loud. “I am the Devil,” he said. The monks on their faces fell, the bird Away through the twilight sped.
A horror fell on those holy men ( The faithful legends say ), And one by one from the face of the earth They pined and vanished away.
Not all in vain with beauty and love Has God the world adorned; And he who Nature scorns and mocks, By Nature is mocked and scorned.
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