92
HER CROSS AND MINE.
There the weird Druid held his mistletoe;
There for the scorched son of the sand, coiled bright,
The torrid snake was hissing sharp and low;
And there the Atlantic savage paid his rite.
There for the scorched son of the sand, coiled bright,
The torrid snake was hissing sharp and low;
And there the Atlantic savage paid his rite.
"Allah!" the Moslem darkly muttered there;
"Brahma!" the jewelled Indies of the East
Sighed through their spices, with a languid prayer;
"Christ?" faintly questioned many a paler priest.
"Brahma!" the jewelled Indies of the East
Sighed through their spices, with a languid prayer;
"Christ?" faintly questioned many a paler priest.
And still the Athenian Altar's glimmering Doubt
On all religions—evermore the same.
What tears shall wash its sad inscription out?
What Hand shall write thereon His other name?
On all religions—evermore the same.
What tears shall wash its sad inscription out?
What Hand shall write thereon His other name?
HER CROSS AND MINE.
"This is my cross—here, Sister, see:
The only one I have to bear."
A flash of gold fell over me,
And precious lights were everywhere.
The only one I have to bear."
A flash of gold fell over me,
And precious lights were everywhere.
