27.12.2010, 12:07
THE CRITICS AT GETHSEMANE.
Even here we meet the Critics. The deep grief,
Which all imaginative Art would faint
To express—the Angel's visit of relief —
The God bow'd earthward like some mourning saint-
They tone down all in their unhappy way ;
Distilling rose-tints from their Saviour's blood,
The God-man's sweat of anguish ! to portray
Their sweet young Syrian—so divinely good,
' We must forgive His worshippers,' they say ;
Not so the Church ! and tho' she needs must blush
At her own feeble handling, yet alway,
When she would paint her Master's darkest day.
She takes the fuU-hued life-drop on her brush,
And works, in simple faith, as best she may.
Even here we meet the Critics. The deep grief,
Which all imaginative Art would faint
To express—the Angel's visit of relief —
The God bow'd earthward like some mourning saint-
They tone down all in their unhappy way ;
Distilling rose-tints from their Saviour's blood,
The God-man's sweat of anguish ! to portray
Their sweet young Syrian—so divinely good,
' We must forgive His worshippers,' they say ;
Not so the Church ! and tho' she needs must blush
At her own feeble handling, yet alway,
When she would paint her Master's darkest day.
She takes the fuU-hued life-drop on her brush,
And works, in simple faith, as best she may.