"
My friend returned, "He aims a blow
To strike the sins of long ago,--
"Yet shields, the while, with studied phrase,
The evil present in these days.
"Doth God in heaven impute no crime
To prophets who belie their time?"
--We turned away among the tombs:
The bees were in the clover-blooms;
The crickets leaped to let us pass;
And God's sweet breath was on the grass.
We spelled the legends on the stones:
The graves were full of martyrs' bones,--
Of bodies which the rack once brake
In witness for the dear Lord's sake,--
Of ashes gathered from the pyres
Of saints whose souls fled up through fires.
I heard him murmur, as we passed,
"Thus won they all the crown at last;
"Which now men lose, through looking back
To find it at the stake and rack:
"The rack and stake have gathered grime:
God's touchstone is the passing time."
--Just then, amid some olive-sprays,
Two orioles perched, and piped their lays,
Until the gold beneath their throats
Shook molten in their mellow notes.
Then, pealing from the church, a psalm
Rolled forth upon the outer calm.
"Both choirs," said I, "are in accord;
For both give worship to the Lord."
Said he, "The tree-top song, I fear,
Fled first and straightest to God's ear.
"If men bind other men in chains,
Then chant, doth God accept the strains?
"Do loud-lipped hymns His ear allure?--
God hates the church that harms the poor!"
--Then rose a meeting-house in view,
Of bleached and weather-beaten hue,
Where, plain of garb and pure of heart,
Men kept the church and world apart,
And sat in waiting for the light
That dawns upon the inner sight;
Nor did they vex the silent air
With any sound of hymn or prayer;
But on their lips God's hand was pressed,
And each man kissed it and was blessed.
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