Give us this day a man so strong He will not falter in his song, Muting his instrument to please The backward-glancing Pharisees.
He must be one to whom a child Comes with sweet laughter, reconciled From tears because he passes by Like a white cloud in yonder sky.
Women shall claim him for a friend, Hail him as brother, gladly spend The price of spikenard for his head, Weep at his tomb when he is dead.
From seat of customs or the nets, Workshop or plough or minarets, Men will respond to his clear call And in his battles proudly fall.
This Lord must be no shrouded form Of God Incarnate, but the norm Of manhood for an eager age — Our prophet, poet, teacher, sage.
If sin be missing of the mark, Sped was the arrow in the dark: With light shed from that Brother's face, Each well-aimed bolt shall find its place.
Not to dead yesterdays, but now Belongs that wide and august brow From whose vast mind a word shall be Spoken to set thought-forces free —
Thought-forces fettered by the ban Of some far-thundering Vatican, Which from the age of stone to this Cramped them by every artifice.
He will lift up a mighty hand Against oppression; will demand From kings and councils an account Of stewardship — of the amount
Taken by them in turn for toil That starves the tiller of the soil; Will seek to know the reason why The millions in their hunger cry.
His clear, calm eyes will pierce excuse Of man defending his abuse Of power; like a two-edge sword Will be dividing of his word.
He will not quote some ancient saw — A text of scripture from the Law, Nor will he seek by miracle To blind all reason; he will tell
The tyrant and the turbaned priest: “Because ye did it to the least Of these my brothers, made their world Hell — to that hell be also hurled!
“Forth from your lands into the street; Huckster and harlot, beggar meet; Lift from each head its crown of thorn, And kiss those feet the nails have torn!
“Into the hell of every hate, Vice and foul lust insatiate, Descend and learn what ye have done, Who from earth's children stole the sun;
“Stole field and forest, mountain, river — Pretending that some royal giver Bestowed them on your sculptored sires Sleeping beneath their ancient spires!
“Ye who have taught that God is wrath; Ye who have driven down the path Of fear the frightened souls of men; Ye who have made His house a den
“For thieves to bargain gold for grace: Ye hypocrites with pious faces And downcast eyes, your litanies — Your candle-lights and threnodies
“Rise not to Him who clothes the grass With glory and whose holy Mass Is in the olive and the vine — Not in your wafer and your wine!”
Send such a man again on earth, As He whom Mary brought to birth, And whom the people in their pride Rejected and then crucified!
Only, O God of stone and star! We will not hale him to the bar Of Pilate and Caiaphas; We will lift up the gates of brass
And open wide our golden doors, Proclaiming while his splendour pours Over the world he comes to win: “The King of Glory shall come in!”
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