Who dares to curse the hands that bless
Shall know of sin the deadliest cost;
The patience of the heavens is lost
Beholding man’s unthankfulness.
For he who breaks all laws may still
In Sivam’s mercy be forgiven;
But none cane save, in earth or heaven,
The wretch who answers good with ill.
THE VISION OF ECHARD
The Benedictine Echard
Sat by the wayside well,
Where Marsberg sees the bridal
Of the Sarre and the Moselle.
Fair with its sloping vineyards
And tawny chestnut bloom,
The happy vale Ausonius sung
For holy Treves made room.
On the shrine Helena builded
To keep the Christ coat well,
On minster tower and kloster cross,
The westering sunshine fell.
There, where the rock-hewn circles
O’erlooked the Roman’s game,
The veil of sleep fell on him,
And his thought a dream became.
He felt the heart of silence
Throb with a soundless word,
And by the inward ear alone
A spirit’s voice he heard.
And the spoken word seemed written
On air and wave and sod,
And the bending walls of sapphire
Blazed with the thought of God:
“What lack I, O my children?
All things are in my hand;
The vast earth and the awful stars
I hold as grains of sand.
“Need I your alms? The silver
And gold are mine alone;
The gifts ye bring before me
Were evermore my own.
“Heed I the noise of viols,
Your pomp of masque and show?
Have I not dawns and sunsets?
Have I not winds that blow?
“Do I smell your gums of incense?
Is my ear with chantings fed?
Taste I your wine of worship,
Or eat your holy bread?
“Of rank and name and honors
Am I vain as ye are vain?
What can Eternal Fulness
From your lip-service gain?
“Ye make me not your debtor
Who serve yourselves alone;
Ye boast to me of homage
Whose gain is all your own.
“For you I gave the prophets,
For you the Psalmist’s lay:
For you the law’s stone tables,
And holy book and day.
“Ye change to weary burdens
The helps that should uplift;
Ye lose in form the spirit,
The Giver in the gift.
“Who called ye to self-torment,
To fast and penance vain?
Dream ye Eternal Goodness
Has joy in mortal pain?
“For the death in life of Nitria,
For your Chartreuse ever dumb,
What better is the neighbor,
Or happier the home?
“Who counts his brother’s welfare
As sacred as his own,
And loves, forgives and pities,
He serveth me alone.
“I note each gracious purpose,
Each kindly word and deed;
Are ye not all my children?
Shall not the Father heed?
“No prayer for light and guidance
Is lost upon mine ear:
The child’s cry in the darkness
Shall not the Father hear?
“I loathe your wrangling councils,
I tread upon your creeds;
