Satan Absolved Part 7

Lord, it is even so Thy Earth is a lost force, Man's lazar-house of woe, Undone by his lewd will. We may no longer strive.

The evil hath prevailed. There is no soul alive That shall escape his greed. We spend our days in tears Mourning Thy world's lost beauty in the night of years.

All pity is departed. Each once happy thing That on Thy fair Earth went, how fleet of foot or wing, How glorious in its strength, how wondrous in design, How royal in its raiment tinctured opaline, How rich in joyous life, the inheritor of forms All n.o.ble, all of worth, which had survived the storms, The chances of decay in the World's living plan, From the remote fair past when still ign.o.ble Man On his four foot-soles went and howled through the lone hills In moody b.e.s.t.i.a.l wrath, uncla.s.sed among Earth's ills-- Each one of them is doomed. From the deep Central Seas To the white Poles, Man ruleth pitiless Lord of these, And daily he destroyeth. The great whales he driveth Beneath the northern ice, and quarter none he giveth, Who perish there of wounds in their huge agony.

He presseth the white bear on the white frozen sea And slaughtereth for his pastime. The wise amorous seal He flayeth big with young, the walrus cubs that kneel But cannot turn his rage, alive he mangleth them, Leaveth in breathing heaps, outrooted branch and stem.

In every land he slayeth. He hath new engines made Which no life may withstand, nor in the forest shade Nor in the sunlit plain, which wound all from afar, The timorous with the valiant, waging his false war, Coward, himself unseen. In pity, Lord, look down On the blank widowed plains which he hath made his own By right of solitude. Where, Lord G.o.d, are they now, Thy glorious bison herds, Thy ariels white as snow, Thy antelopes in troops, the zebras of Thy plain?

Behold their whitened bones on the dull track of men.

Thy elephants, Lord, where? For ages thou didst build Their frames' capacity, the hide which was their shield No thorn might pierce, no sting, no violent tooth a.s.sail, The tusks which were their levers, the lithe trunk their flail.

Thou strengthenedst their deep brain. Thou madest them wise to know And wiser to ignore, advised, deliberate, slow, Conscious of power supreme in right. The manifest token Of Thy high will on earth, Thy natural peace unbroken, Unbreakable by fear. For ages did they move Thus, kings of Thy deep forest swayed by only love.

Where are they now, Lord G.o.d? A fugitive spent few Used as Man's living targets by the ign.o.ble crew Who boast their coward skill to plant the b.a.l.l.s that fly.

Thy work of all time spoiled, their only use to die That these sad clowns may laugh. Nay, Lord, we weep for _Thee_, And spend ourselves in tears for Thy marred majesty.

Behold, Lord, what we bring--this last proof in our hands, Their latest fiendliest spoil from Thy fair tropic lands, The birds of all the Earth unwinged to deck the heads Of their unseemly women; plumage of such reds As not the sunset hath, such purples as no throne, Not even in heaven, showeth,--hardly, Lord, Thine own; Such azures as the sea's, such greens as are in Spring The oak trees' tenderest buds of watched-for blossoming, Such opalescent pearls as only in Thy skies The lunar bow revealeth to night's sleep-tired eyes.

Behold them, Lord of Beauty, Lord of Reverence, Lord of Compa.s.sion, Thou who meetest means to ends, Nor madest Thy world fair for less than Thine own fame, Behold Thy birds of joy lost, tortured, put to shame For these vile strumpets' whim. Arise, or cease to be Judge of the quick and dead! These dead wings cry to Thee!

Arise, Lord, and avenge!

THE ANGELS

We wait upon Thy word.

(_The Lord G.o.d covereth His face._)

SATAN

Thou hearest them, Lord G.o.d.

THE LORD G.o.d

Good Satan, I have heard.

Thou art more just than I--alas, more just than I.

THE ANGELS

Behold the Lord G.o.d weepeth.

THE ANGEL OF PITY

What eyes should be dry If for a crime eyes weep? This crime transcendeth crime.

And the Lord G.o.d hath pity--in His own good time.

THE LORD G.o.d

Alas, the time is late. I do repent Me sore The wrong I did thee, Satan, in those griefs of yore.

The wrong I did the Earth. Yet is Eternity A long day for atonement. Thou thyself shalt be My instrument here of wrath to purge this race of Man And cast him on Time's dunghill, whence he first began.

What, Angel, is thy counsel? Shall we unseal again The fountains of the heavens, send our outpoured rain, And flood him with new waters? Shall it be by fire?

Shall we embraize the earth in one vast funeral pyre By impact of a star? let loose a sulphurous wind?

Belch rocks from the Earth's bowels? Shall we strike Man blind With an unbearable light? Shall we so shake the hills, The plains, that he fall palsied, grind him in the mills Of a perpetual hail, importune him with snow, Scourge him with noise unceasing, or the glutinous flow Of a long pestilent stench? Speak, Satan, all thy thought, Thou who the traitor knowest. How may he be brought Best to annihilation?

SATAN

Lord, by none of these, Thy floods, Thy flames, Thy storms were puerilities.

He hath too large a cunning to be taken thus.

He would outride Thy waves, outblast Thy sulphurous Winds with his counter-winds. He liveth on foul air As on the breath of heaven. He hath nor thought nor care For Thy worst lightning strokes, holding their principle Rock-firm in his own hand. All natural powers fulfil His brain's omnipotence. He standeth at each point Armed for defiant war in harness without joint.

Though Thou shouldst break the Earth in twain he should not bend.

Thou needest a force to aid Thee, an ally, a friend, A principle of good which shall outwit his guile With true white guilelessness, his anger with a smile, His force with utter weakness. Only thus, Lord G.o.d, Shalt Thou regain Thy Earth, a purified abode, And rid it of the Human.

THE LORD G.o.d

And the means? Thy plan Needeth a new redemption.

SATAN

Ay, but not of Man.

He is beyond redeeming, or Thy Son had died Not wholly to this loss. Who would be crucified To-day must choose another, a young fleshly form, Free from the simian taint, were it but flower or worm, Or limpet of the rock, or grieving nightingale, Wherein to preach his gospel. Yet should he prevail, If only for truth's sake and that this latest lie Should be laid bare to shame, Time's fraud, Humanity.

Choose Thee an Angel, Lord; it were enough. Thy Son Was a price all too great even had the world been won.

Nor can it be again. An Angel shall suffice For Thy new second sending, so Thou guide the choice To a more reasoned issue--so Thou leave Mankind Henceforth to his sole ways as at his outset, blind To all but his own l.u.s.ts, untutored by Thy grace.

This is the road, Lord G.o.d. I bow before Thy face.

I make Thee my submission to do all Thy will, So Thou absolve and pardon.

THE LORD G.o.d

O incomparable Good servant, Satan, thou art absolved indeed.

It was _thy_ right to pardon thy G.o.d's lack of heed, His wrath at thy wise counsel. Nay, thou shamest Me.

Be thou absolved, good Angel, Ego absolvo te Ab omnibus peccatis. Once more be it thy right To stand before G.o.d's throne for ever in His sight, And trusted more than these. Speak, Satan, what thou wilt, All shall be granted thee, the glory with the guilt Of the Earth lost and won. Who is it thou wouldst send Agent and messenger to work to this new end?

What Angel of them all? I pledge thee My full faith It shall be as thou wilt.

SATAN

Who goeth must die the death, Since death is all life's law, and taste of corporal pain.

And whoso dieth must die, nor think to live again.

THE LORD G.o.d

Shall it be Michael? Speak.

SATAN

Nay, Lord, nor Gabriel.

They are Thy servants tried, who love Thy Heaven too well.

Thou shalt not drive them forth to the wild wastes of Earth.

What should they do, Lord G.o.d, with a terrestrial birth, With less than Thy long joys? Nay, rather choose Thee one Already marred with grief with Time's disunion, One all too sad for Heaven, to whom Eternity Is as a charge o'erspent, who hath no fear to die, But gladly would lie down and be for aye no more, The flotsam of Time's waves upon Death's outer sh.o.r.e, Forgotten and forgetting. Grant me, Lord G.o.d, this, In penance for the past, Death's full forgetfulness.

THE LORD G.o.d

And thou wouldst be incarnate?

SATAN

As the least strong thing, The frailest, the most fond, an insect on the wind, Which shall prevail by love, by ignorance, by lack Of all that Man most trusteth to secure his back, To arm his hand with might. What Thy Son dreamed of Man Will I work out anew as some poor cateran, The weakest of the Earth, with only beauty's power And Thy good grace to aid, the creature of an hour Too fugitive for fight, too frail even far to fly, And at the hour's end, Lord, to close my wings and die.

Such were the new redemption.

THE LORD G.o.d