Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Nicholson & Lee, eds. The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse. 1917.

Catherine M. Verschoyle

381. Crucifixion on the Mountain

I FOUND full many a hindrance on the road

That led up to the summit of desire,

Sharp rocks and wounding thorns; and in the mire

I fell, and soiled the garment I had care

To keep so fair

For the great rites awaiting me in Love’s abode.

Yet on I pressed,

Dreaming of rest

That should be sweeter for toil undergone,

When on my Saviour’s breast

Divine and human should be one.

Deep ran the chasms across the way,

Chasms my wilfulness had made,

But Love had cast a bridge above the spray

Flung by the roaring waters far below;

And with the cross my strength, the cross my guide,

My worser self for ever crucified,

I climbed toward the line of snow

That Love had laid

Far up, to mark the final stage

Of chill forlorn desertion, that should close

My pilgrimage.

High on the summit shone the mystic cross

Beside which life is death, and riches dross;

Not such the cross that companies my way,

A harsh rude copy meet for every day,

Beauty it lacks, untrimmed and harsh the wood.

And bitter as Christ’s rood;

Heavy as death, no staff to life is this,

But such a weight

As leaves the soul unsoothed, disconsolate,

And drags the body down to the abyss.

Upward I crawl, the dream of joy is past,

I, that would share the sorrow of my Lord

And feel the piercing sword

Divide my flesh and spirit, now at last,

Discern the failure I am forced to share,

And see the garment I would keep so fair,

Foul from the dirt of many a foolish fall

The world might mock at. When I set my feet

Upon the path I said—

A martyrdom were sweet;

Come sword, come fire,

All tortures are less sharp than my desire.

Let me have flints for bed,

And thorns, such as once wove my Master’s crown,

Spurring me on to share in His renown.

And lo! I faint

Beneath a common cross I cannot raise.

Mankind might jeer, but on celestial praise

Free from all envious taint

I counted; wherefore then this loneliness

Weighted with death?

Give me the nails, the spear, oppress

My soul with every pang till my last breath,

And then, the victor’s wreath.

Yet I climbed still, the bitter words I spoke

Fell into silence and no echoes woke;

But in my heart a small voice murmuring

Whispered,—thy King

Humbly exchanged celestial gain for loss,

Requiring no place to lay Him down,

No victor’s crown,

But only wood enough to make a cross.

I bowed my head in shame, and upward went

Slowly, beneath my burden bent;

Deep in the snow my bleeding feet

Sank at each step, and on the sheet

Of dazzling white left scarlet stains.

My eyes grew blind, my trembling knees gave way,

My body was a mass of fiery pains:

And still I rose and fell,

And struggled on a space,

Half dreaming broken words from far away,

The heavenward way,—

The pains of hell,—

And murmuring, weeping, falling,

Upon my Master calling,

Unconscious now of all save agony,

I still endured, until I lay

On the appointed place

Upon the summit, faint and like to die.

So, I thought, heaven is won,

Gone is the burden that so long I carried;

Yet still the summoning angels tarried.

I lay alone,

Almost desiring back the fardel gone,

That was my bliss and bale;

And so methought a thousand years

Of silence passed.

At last

I raised my eyes to see

Some angel that should bind my wounds and wipe my tears.

But there was Calvary,

And black and gaunt three crosses rose

Untenanted, among the snows.

Then, deep within, the silence spoke,—

Now thou hast left Gethsemane,

Stretch thy rebellious limbs upon the tree,

Giving thy body up for Me.

And I obeyed,

And laid

My feet and hands to bear the stroke

Of piercing nails.

And so I hung another thousand years.

The wind arose, and far below me tossed

A sea of sombre-crested pines; the cloudy skies

Burst with the gale, and showed an orange rent,

And heavy clouds, like boats with tattered sails,

Flapped low, and dipped and raced about the height

Until they sank in mist that swathed my sight.

Then I closed my eyes,

And tore my way from the poor earthly tent,

And free, I knew my labours all well spent,

And no pang lost.

Abandoned hung the earthly form

While round it swayed and shrieked the storm;

But my soul, being free,

Rejoiced most thankfully,

Until a voice cried,—nay,

Still must thou lay

Thy soul upon the rood.

So my stripped soul was fastened there,

And that cross stood

Beside the centre, towering gaunt and bare

While other thousand years went by;

Till my purged spirit burst its sheath,

And free of soul and body knelt beneath

The triple emblem of a conquered death.

Now let my spirit rise to God who gave—

Not through the grave,

But upward into light.

Aye, chanted seraphs with their dulcimers,

The ladder it prefers

Is the great midmost cross.

My spirit trembled, but I clomb—

Ah, then fell night;

This, this is not my home.

And in a horror far too deep to tell

I knew the pains of hell,

And for a thousand years I drank this bitter cup,

Until my spirit yielded itself up,

And hands of love

Stretched from above

Upraised me in a most delicious rest,

Upon that cross and ladder of delight,

Which now I knew was but my Master’s breast