With base thought front the ever-sacred sky—
Soil with foul deed the ground whereon he laid
In holy death his pale, immortal head!
ON A PORTRAIT OF SERVETUS
Thou grim and haggard wanderer, who dost look
With haunting eyes forth from the narrow page!
I know what fires consumed with inward rage
Thy broken frame, what tempests chilled and shook.
Ah, could not thy remorseless foeman brook
Time's sure devourment, but must needs assuage
His anger in thy blood, and blot the age
With that dark crime which virtue's semblance took!
Servetus! that which slew thee lives to-day,
Tho' in new forms it taints our modern air;
Still in heaven's name the deeds of hell are done;
Still on the high-road, 'neath the noonday sun,
The fires of hate are lit for them who dare
Follow their Lord along the untrodden way.
"DESPISE NOT THOU"
Despise not thou thy father's ancient creed;
Of his pure life it was the golden thread
Whereon bright days were gathered, bead by bead,
Till death laid low that dear and reverend head.
From olden faith how many a glorious deed
Hath lit the world; its blood-stained banner led
The martyrs heavenward; yea, it was the seed
Of knowledge, whence our modern freedom spread.
Not always has man's credo proved a snare—
But a deliverance, a sign, a flame
To purify the dense and pestilent air,
