“For faith hath still an Olivet
And Love a Galilee.”
Two things: the triple great North Star,
To poise and keep His spheres in place,
And Zeus for peace: for peace the Tzar.
Or Science, Progress, Good or Grace,
These two the centum’s fruitage are;
And of the two this olive tree
Stands first, aye, first since Galilee.
Christ’s centum bends his frosted head;
Christ’s calend calls a solemn roll.
What shall be writ, what shall be said
Of Saxon when this blood-writ scroll
By God’s white light at last is read?
What of ye Saxon nations, ye
Who prate the Christ most noisily?
The eagle’s bent beak at the throat
Of Peace where far, fair islands lie:
The greedy lion sees a mote
In his brave, weaker brother’s eye
And crouches low, to gorge and gloat.
The Prince of Peace? Ye write his name
In blood, then dare to pray! For shame!
These Saxon lies on top of lies,
Ten millstones to the neck of us,
Forbid that we should lift our eyes
Till we dare meet that manlier Russ;
In peons for peace of paradise:
Forbid that we, until the day
We wash our hands, should dare to pray.