LIONEL JOHNSON
133
the religious sincerity of Johnson's poems did not suffer by his formal precision. What could be more tender, more straightforward, than "Sursum Corda," lines addressed to his contemporary poet, Francis Thompson?
Lift up your hearts! We lift
Them up
To God, and to God's gift,
The Passion Cup.
Them up
To God, and to God's gift,
The Passion Cup.
Lift up your hearts! Ah, so
We will:
Through storm of fire or snow,
We lift them still. . . .
We will:
Through storm of fire or snow,
We lift them still. . . .
But as an expression of pure spiritual yearning, Lionel Johnson has scarcely left us a gift of more haunting beauty than the short poem, "De Profundis":
Would that with you I were imparadised,
White Angels around Christ!
That, by the borders of the eternal sea,
Singing, I too might be.
······
Where reigns the Victor Victim, and His Eyes
Control eternities!
Immortally your music flows in sweet
Stream round the Wounded Feet;
And rises to the Wounded Hands; and then
Springs to the Home of Men,
The Wounded Heart: and there in flooding praise
Circles, and sings, and stays.
White Angels around Christ!
That, by the borders of the eternal sea,
Singing, I too might be.
······
Where reigns the Victor Victim, and His Eyes
Control eternities!
Immortally your music flows in sweet
Stream round the Wounded Feet;
And rises to the Wounded Hands; and then
Springs to the Home of Men,
The Wounded Heart: and there in flooding praise
Circles, and sings, and stays.
So far, we recognize the spiritual exaltation, the lyric loveliness of Crashaw and the older Catholic hymnists. But listen:
