Those reeking vapors; faith and gratitade
Still lead me to the hand my boy-lips kissed
For benison and guidance. Not in wrath,
Master, but in wise patience, point my path.
vi.
For I, thy servant, gather in one sheaf
The venomed shafts of slander, which thy word
Shall shrivel to small dust. If haply grief.
Or momentary pain, I deal, my Lord
Blame not thy servant's zeal, nor be thou deaf
Unto my soul's blind cry for light. Accord—
Pitying my love, if too superb to care
For hatensoiled name—an answer to my prayer.
vii.
To me, who, vine to stone, clung close to thee,
The very base of life appeared to quake
When first I knew thee fallen from us, to be
A tower of strength among our foes, to make
'Twixt Jew and Jew deep-cloven enmity.
I have wept gall and blood for thy dear sake.
But now with temperate soul I calmly search
Motive and cause that bound thee to the Church.
viii.
Four motives possible therefor I reach—
Ambition, doubt, fear, or mayhap—conviction.
I hear in turn ascribed thee all and each
By ignorant folk who part not truth from fiction.
