Master, if thou to thy pride's goal should come.
Where wouldst thou throne—at Avignon or Rome?
XXIX.
I handle burning questions, good my lord,
Such as may kindle fagots, well I wis.
Your Gospel not denies our older Word,
But in a way completes and betters this.
The Law of Love shall supersede the sword.
So runs the promise, but the facts I miss.
Already needs this wretched generation,
A voice divine—a new, third revelation.
XXX.
Two Popes and their adherents fulminate
Ban against ban, and to the nether hell
Condemn each other, while the nations wait
Their Christ to thunder forth from Heaven, and tell
Who is his rightful Vicar, reinstate
His throne, the hideous discord to dispel.
Where shall I seek, master, while such things be,
Celestial truth, revealed certainty !
XXXI.
Not miracles I doubt, for how dare man,
Chief miracle of life's mystery, say lie knows?
How may he closely secret causes scan.
Who learns not whence he comes nor where he goes?
