Part 4 (1/2)

Was it because of Death, Life's complement,--or Pain, That thou didst loose thy pride to question of My will?

SATAN

Nay, Lord, Thou knowest the truth. These evils are not ill.

They do but prove Thy wisdom. All that lives must perish, Else were the life at charge, the bodily fires they cherish, Acc.u.mulating ills. The creatures thou didst make Sink when their day is done. They slough time like the snake How many hundred sunsets? Yet night comes for rest, And they awake no more,--and sleep,--and it is best.

What, Lord, would I not give to s.h.i.+ft my cares and lie Enfolded in Time's arms, stone-dead, eternally?

No. 'Twas not Death, nor Pain; Pain the true salt of pleasure, The condiment that stings and teaches each his measure, The limit of his strength, joy's value in his hand.

It was not these we feared. We bowed to Thy command, Even to that stern decree which bade the lion spring Upon the weakling steer, the falcon bend her wing To reive the laggard fowl, the monster of the deep Devour and be devoured. He who hath sown shall reap.

And we beheld the Earth by that mute law controlled, Grow ever young and new, Time's necklace of pure gold Set on Creation's neck. We gazed, and we applauded The splendour of Thy might, Thy incarnated G.o.dhead.

And yet--Lord G.o.d, forgive--Nay, hear me. Thou wert not Content with this fair world in its first glorious thought.

Thou needs must make thee Man. Ah, there Thy wisdom strayed.

Thou wantedst one to know Thee, no mere servile jade, But a brave upright form to walk the Earth and be Thy lieutenant with all and teach integrity, One to aspire, adorn, to stand the roof and crown Of thy Creation's house in full dominion, The fairest, n.o.blest, best of Thy created things-- One thou shouldst call Thy rose of all Time's blossomings.

And thou evolvedst Man!--There were a thousand forms, All glorious, all sublime, the riders of Thy storms, The battlers of Thy seas, the four-foot Lords of Earth, From which to choose Thy stem and get Thee a new birth.

There were forms painted, proud, bright birds with plumes of heaven And songs more sweet than angels' heard on the hills at even, Frail flas.h.i.+ng b.u.t.terflies, free fishes of such hue As rainbows hardly have, sleek serpents which renew Their glittering coats like gems, grave brindled-hided kine, Large-hearted elephants, the horse how near divine, The whale, the mastodon, the mighty Behemoth, Leviathan's self awake and glorious in his wrath.

All these thou hadst for choice, compet.i.tors with Thee For Thy new gift and prize, Thy co-divinity.

Yet didst Thou choose, Lord G.o.d, the one comedian shape In Thy Creation's range, the lewd bare-b.u.t.tocked ape, And calledst him, in scorn of all that brave parade, King of Thy living things, in Thine own likeness made!

Where, Lord, was then Thy wisdom? We, who watched Thee, saw More than Thyself didst see. We recognised the flaw, The certainty of fault, and I in zeal spake plain.

THE LORD G.o.d

Thou didst, rebellious Spirit, and thy zeal was vain.

Thou spakest in thy blindness. Was it hard for G.o.d, Thinkest thou, to choose His graft, to wring from the worst clod His n.o.blest fruiting? Nay. Man's baseness was the test, The text of His all-power, its proof made manifest.

There was nought hard for G.o.d.

SATAN

Except to win Man's heart.

Lord, hear me to the end. Thy Will found counterpart Only in Man's un-Will. Thy Truth in his un-Truth, Thy Beauty in his Baseness, Ruth in his un-Ruth, Order in his dis-Order. See, Lord, what hath been To Thy fair Earth through him, the fount and origin Of all its temporal woes. How was it ere he came In his high arrogance, sad creature without shame?

Thou dost remember, Lord, the glorious World it was, The beauty, the abundance, the unbroken face Of undulent forest spread without or rent or seam From mountain foot to mountain, one embroidered hem Fringing the mighty plains through which Thy rivers strayed, Thy lakes, Thy floods, Thy marshes, tameless, unbetrayed, All virgin of the spoiler, all inviolate, In beauty undeflowered, where fear was not nor hate.

Thou knowest, Lord of all, how that sanct solitude Was crowded with brave life, a thousand forms of good Enjoying Thy sweet air, some strong, some weak, yet none Oppressor of the rest more than Thy writ might run.

Armed were they, yet restrained. Not even the lion slew His prey in wantonness, nor claimed beyond his due.

He thinned their ranks,--yet, lo, the Spring brought back their joy.

Short was his anger, Lord. He raged not to destroy.

Oh, n.o.ble was the World, its balance held by Thee, Timely its fruits for all, 'neath Thy sole sovereignty.

But he! he, the unclean! The fault, Lord G.o.d, was Thine.

Behold him in Thy place, a presence saturnine, In stealth among the rest, equipped as none of these With Thy mind's attributes, low crouched beneath the trees, Betraying all and each. The wit Thou gavest him He useth to undo, to bend them to his whim.

His bodily strength is little, slow of foot is he, Of stature base, unclad in mail or panoply.

His heart hath a poor courage. He hath beauty none.

Bare to the b.u.t.tocks he of all that might atone.

Without Thy favour, Lord, what power had he for ill?

Without thy prompting voice his violence had scant skill.

The snare, the sling, the lime, who taught him these but Thou?