TARTARUS

WHILE in my simple gospel creed

That “God is Love” so plain I read,

Shall dreams of heathen birth affright

My pathway through the coming night?

Ah, Lord of life, though spectres pale

Fill with their threats the shadowy vale,

With Thee my faltering steps to aid,

How can I dare to be afraid?

Shall mouldering page or fading scroll

Outface the charter of the soul?

Shall priesthood's palsied arm protect

The wrong our human hearts reject,

And smite the lips whose shuddering cry

Proclaims a cruel creed a lie?

The wizard's rope we disallow

Was justice once,— is murder now!

Is there a world of blank despair,

And dwells the Omnipresent there?

Does He behold with smile serene

The shows of that unending scene,

Where sleepless, hopeless anguish lies,

And, ever dying, never dies?

Say, does He hear the sufferer's groan,

And is that child of wrath his own?

O mortal, wavering in thy trust,

Lift thy pale forehead from the dust!

The mists that cloud thy darkened eyes

Fade ere they reach the o'erarching skies

When the blind heralds of despair

Would bid thee doubt a Father's care,

Look up from earth, and read above

On heaven's blue tablet, GOD IS LOVE!