21.05.2007, 15:08
A Soldier-Priest
To J. M. K.
My hope and heart is with thee, - thou wilt be
A latter Luther and soldier-priest
To scare church-harpies from the Master’s feast;
Our dusted velvets have much need of thee:
Thou art no sabbath-drawler of old saws
Distilled from some worm-cankered homily;
But spurred at heart with fieriest energy
To embattail and to wall about thy cause
With iron-worded proof, hating to hark
The humming of the drowsy pulpit-drone
Half God’s good sabbath, while the worn-out clerk
Browbeats his desk below. Thou, from a throne
Mounted in heaven, wilt shoot into the dark
Arrows of lightnings. I will stand and mark.
To J. M. K.
My hope and heart is with thee, - thou wilt be
A latter Luther and soldier-priest
To scare church-harpies from the Master’s feast;
Our dusted velvets have much need of thee:
Thou art no sabbath-drawler of old saws
Distilled from some worm-cankered homily;
But spurred at heart with fieriest energy
To embattail and to wall about thy cause
With iron-worded proof, hating to hark
The humming of the drowsy pulpit-drone
Half God’s good sabbath, while the worn-out clerk
Browbeats his desk below. Thou, from a throne
Mounted in heaven, wilt shoot into the dark
Arrows of lightnings. I will stand and mark.