HKB
into everlasting fire. And quick the gates of heaven shall be shut, And I shall reign in heaven with mine own And let my fire of wrath consume the world.
But then you say, what of his love and doctrine? Not the old decalogue by him renewed, But new wine to the Jews, if not in the world Unknown before. Look close and you shall see A book of double entries, balanced columns, Business in matters spiritual, prudential Rules for life's conduct. Yes, be merciful But to obtain your mercy; yes, forgive That you may be forgiven; honor your parents That your days may be long. Blest are the meek For they shall inherit the earth. Rejoice, for great Is your reward in heaven if they say All manner of evil of you, persecute you. Do you not see the rule of compensation Shot through it all? And if you love your neighbor, And all men do so, then you have the state Composed to such a level of peace, no man Need fear the breaker in, unless you keep This mood of love for preaching, for a rule While business in the Occident goes on Under Jehovah's Hebrew manual. What is it all? The meek inherit the earth For being meek; you turn the other cheek And fill your enemy with shame to strike A cheek that does not harden to return The blow received. But too much in our life The cheek is turned, the hand not made a fist, But opened out to pick a pocket with, While the other cheek is turned. Now, at the last Has not this war put by resist not evil? Which was the way of Jesus to the end, Even to buffetings and the crown of thorns; Even the cross and death?--we put it by: We would not let protagonists thereof So much as hint the doctrine, which is to say, Though it be written over Jesus' life, And be his spirit's essence, we see through The fallacy of that preachment, cannot live In this world by it.
Well, let me be plain. Races like men find truth in living life, Find thereby what is food and what is poison. These are the phylogenetics spiritual. But meanwhile there's the light upon the lotus Which waits to mingle with the light that shines Upon the Occident, take Jesus' light Where it is bright enough to mix with it And show no duller splendor?
I look back Upon the Jew and Jesus, on the Thora The gospel, dogmatism, poetry, The Messianic hope and will and grace, Jesus the Son of God, and one with God. The outer theocracy, the Kingdom of God within you, St. Paul with metaphysics, St. Augustine Babbling of sin in Cicero's rhetoric, The popes with their intrigues and millions slain O ghastly waste, if not O ghastly failure, Beside which all the tragedies of time To set up doctrines, rulerships, and say: Are not a finger scratched. O monstrous hate Born of enfolding love! O martyrdom Of our poor world for ages, incurable madness Bred in the blood, and mixed in the forms of thought, Still maddening, maiming, crucifying, killing The fast appearing sons of men. Go ask What man you will who has lived up to forty And see if you find not the Christian creed Has not in some way gyved his life and bolted Body or spirit to a wall, to make The man live not by nature, but a doctrine Evolved from thought that disregards man's life. But oh this hunger of the mind for answers And hunger of the heart for life, the heart Thrown to the dogs of thought. What shall we do? I see a way, have hope.