How happy would I be, could I attain
The steadfast knowledge of the Christ
That does not wince below the pain,
That does not falter from its heavenly tryst—
Could I attain at once from this dull earth
That cries, a ruined broken thing, it gave me birth:
As some one, wandering on a sin-stained street,
Should meet a woman, bent and coarse from sin
(Caught in the gin of chance, her faltering feet
Not strong enough to save), from some retreat
Forbidding, gloomy, full of fears within—
And she should scream he was her rightful son:
And he with tears, affrighted and abashed,
Should look with fear her lineaments upon,
The while dim memory with sharp whip lashed
Of vague recollections from the vanished past:
Struggling with words her words to disavow,
And almost yielding at the very last
So huge the evidence he must allow.
Could I attain from this unkempt and unswept place—
Where harlequins and mad men gibe and jeer,
Denying God unto His very face;
Though in their faces one can see the fear
That in His temple God might suddenly appear—
Could I attain at once, how happy I would be!
