Silverpoints by John Gray — Read

A gothic church. At one end of an aisle, / Against a wall where mystic sunbeams smile / Through painted windows, orange, blue, and gold, / The Christ's unutterable charm behold. / Upon the cross, adorned with gold and green, / Long fluted golden tongues of sombre sheen, / Like four flames joined in one, around the head / And by the outstretched arms, their glory spread. / The statue is of wood; of natural size / Tinted; one almost sees before one's eyes / The last convulsion of the lingering breath. / "Behold the man!" Robust and frail. Beneath / That breast indeed might throb the Sacred Heart. / And from the lips, so holily dispart, / The dying murmur breathes "Forgive! Forgive!" / O wide-stretched arms! "I perish, let them live." / Under the torture of the thorny crown, / The loving pallor of the brow looks down / On human blindness, on the toiler's woes; / The while, to overturn Despair's repose, / And urge to Hope and Love, as Faith demands, / Bleed, bleed the feet, the broken side, the hands. / A poet, painter, Christian, -- it was a friend / Of mine -- his attributes most fitly blend -- / Who saw this marvel, made an exquisite / Copy; and, knowing how I worshipped it, / Forgot it, in my room, by accident. / I write these verses in acknowledgment.