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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537497" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Christ upon the Hill</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Part I.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A couple old sat o'er the fire,<br>And they were bent and gray; <br>They burned the charcoal for their Lord, <br>Who lived long leagues away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Deep in the wood the old pair dwelt, <br>Far from the paths of men, <br>And saw no face but their poor son's, <br>And a wanderer's now and then.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The son, alas! Had grown apace, <br>And left his wits behind; <br>He was as helpless as the air, <br>As empty as the wind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With puffing lips and shambling feet, <br>And eyes a-staring wide, <br>He whistled ever as he went, <br>And little did beside.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He whistled high, he whistled low, <br>He whistled sharp and sweet; <br>He brought the redbreast to his hand, <br>And the brown hare to his feet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Without a fear of beast or bird, <br>He wandered all the day; <br>But when the light began to fail <br>His courage passed away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He feared the werewolf in the wood, <br>The dragon in the dell, <br>And home he fled as if pursued <br>By all the hosts of hell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Ah! we are old," the woman said, <br>"And soon shall we be gone, <br>And what will our poor Michael do <br>When he is left alone?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"We are forgotten of all men; <br>And he is dead, I fear, <br>That good old priest, who used to come <br>And shrive us thrice a year.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"We have no kin," the mother said, <br>"We have no friend," said she; <br>The father gazed upon the fire, <br>And not a word said he.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again she spoke, "No friend or kin, <br>'Death, only Death,' is near; <br>And he will take us both away, <br>And leave our Michael here.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And who shall give him bite or sup? <br>And who shall keep him neat? <br>Ah! what were Heaven if we must weep <br>Before God's mercy-seat!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when the woman ceased, the man <br>A little waited still, <br>And then he said, "We have one friend -- <br>The Christ upon the Hill."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Part II.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Christ upon the Hill --so gaunt <br>And lean and stark and drear; <br>It made the heart with pity start, <br>It smote the soul with fear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">High reared against a cliff it stood, <br>Just where the great roads met; <br>And many a knee had worn the stone <br>Wherein the Rood was set.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For deadly was the pass beyond, <br>And all men paused to pray <br>For courage, or to pour their thanks <br>For dangers passed away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But not for fear of beast or fiend, <br>But boding deeper ill, <br>The charcoal-burner and his wife <br>Slow climbed the weary hill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Before the Rood their simple son <br>Lay stretched upon the ground, <br>And crumbled black bread for the birds <br>That hopped and pecked around.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(For he had gone before with feet <br>As wild and light as air, <br>And borne the basket on his back <br>That held their frugal fare.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And they were faint, and, ere they prayed, <br>They sat them down to eat; <br>And much they marvelled at their son, <br>Who never touched his meat,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But, now the birds were flown away, <br>Sat up, and only gazed <br>Upon the Christ upon the cross, <br>As one with wonder dazed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Full long he sat and never moved; <br>But then he gave a cry, <br>And caught his mother by the wrist <br>And said, "I heard a sigh."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"It is an image made of wood, <br>It has no voice," she said; <br>"'Twas but the wind you heard, my son," <br>But Michael shook his head,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And gazed again, so earnestly <br>His face grew almost wise; <br>And now he cried again, and said, <br>"Look, how he closed his eyes!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"'Tis but the shadow of a bird <br>That passed across his face," <br>The mother said; "see, even now <br>It hovers near the place."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And then the father said, "My son, <br>The image is of wood; <br>And do you think a man could live <br>Without a taste of food?"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"No food?" the silly youth replied, <br>And pointed to a wren, <br>Who with a crumb upon Christ's lip <br>Had just alighted then.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now the old man held his peace, <br>And the woman ceased to strive, <br>For still he shook his silly head, <br>And said, "The man's alive."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"It is God's will," they said, and knelt, <br>And knew not what to say; <br>But when they rose they felt as though <br>All fear had passed away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And they could smile when Michael left <br>His dinner on the stone; <br>He said, "The birds will feed the Christ <br>When they are quite alone."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Part III.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The couple sat before the fire, <br>More old, and sad, and poor, <br>For there was winter at the heart, <br>And winter at the door.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It shook the roof with shocks of wind; <br>It caked the pane with snow; <br>The candle flickered on the sill, <br>Like a soul that longed to go.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas Michael's beacon, -- gone to feed <br>The Christ upon the Hill; <br>And midnight long had passed and gone, <br>And he was absent still.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now and then they turned a log, <br>And now they dropped a word: <br>"'Twas all the wind," the mother said; <br>The father said, "The bird."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I hoped that it was God himself," <br>The mother muttered low; <br>"It must have been the fiend," he said, <br>"For to deceive him so."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And then the mother cried aloud, <br>"What matter it?" she said; <br>"Or wind, or bird, or fiend, or God, <br>For he is dead -- is dead!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Hark!" cried the man, and through the storm <br>A note came high and clear; <br>It was the whistle of their son, <br>That sound they longed to hear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And then a cry for help, and out <br>Into the snow they ran; <br>And there was Michael. On his back <br>He bore a helpless man.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"He lives, he lives," he wildly cried; <br>"His wounds are dripping still;" <br>And surely, red from hand and side <br>There ran a tiny rill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They brought Him in and laid Him down, <br>Upon the warm hearthstone; <br>It was the Christ, but not of wood, <br>But made of flesh and bone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They washed His wounds, and at their touch <br>They turned to purple scars, <br>Like a young moon upon the breast, <br>On hands and feet like stars.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They brought to moisten His dry lips <br>They hoarded flask of wine; <br>They wrapped Him round with blankets warm, <br>And waited for a sign.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And soon without the help of hand <br>He rose upon His feet, <br>And like a friend beside the fire <br>He took the vacant seat.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He sat up in the chair then, <br>And straight began to shine, <br>Until His face and raiment poured <br>A glory most divine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The thorns upon His forehead <br>Broke out in leaves of gold; <br>The blood-drops turned to berries, <br>Like rubies rich and bold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The blankets that bewrapped Him <br>Flowed into folds of white, <br>Bestarred with gold and jewels <br>Which sparkled in the light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The very chair He sat on <br>Became a crystal throne; <br>The oaken stool beneath His feet <br>Turned to a jasper stone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He stretched an arm to Michael, <br>And touched him with His hand, <br>And he arose beside the throne <br>An angel, bright and grand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And then His lips were opened, <br>And strong and sweet and clear, <br>Like water from a fountain, <br>His voice was good to hear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I am the King of Glory; <br>I am your brother too; <br>And even as you do to Me, <br>So do I unto you.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"You took Me in and clothed Me; <br>You washed My body pierced; <br>You gave me of your wine to drink <br>When I was sore athirst.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And you have suffered also, <br>And you must suffer still; <br>I suffered upon Calvary; <br>I suffer on the Hill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"But I am Prince of Sorrow, <br>And I am Lord of Care; <br>I come to bring you comfort, <br>And save you from despair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Your son, your only son, is safe <br>And beautiful to see; <br>And though you miss him for a while, <br>You know he is with Me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And I will give him peace and joy <br>As no man every knew -- <br>A little grief, a little pain, <br>And I will come for you."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He rose, His arms around their son; <br>And through the open door <br>They only saw a whirl of snow, <br>And heard the tempest roar.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Cosmo+Monkhouse">William Cosmo Monkhouse</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537497" data-title="The Christ upon the Hill de William Cosmo Monkhouse" data-description="Part I. A couple old sat o'er the fire, And they were bent and gray; They burned the charcoal for their Lord, Who lived long leagues away. Deep in the wood the old pair dwelt, Far from the paths of men, And saw no face but their poor son's, ..."></div> </div> </div>
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