Disguises

High stretched upon the swinging yard,     I gather in the sheet;     But it is hard     And stiff, and one cries haste.     Then He that is most dear in my regard     Of all the crew gives aidance meet;     But from His hands, and from His feet,     A glory spreads wherewith the night is starred:     Moreover of a cup most bitter-sweet     With fragrance as of nard,     And myrrh, and cassia spiced,     He proffers me to taste.     Then I to Him: Art Thou the Christ?     He saith, Thou sayst.     Like to an ox     That staggers neath the mortal blow,     She grinds upon the rocks:     Then straight and low     Leaps forth the levelled line, and in our quarter locks     The cradles rigged; with swerving of the blast     We go,     Our Captain last,     Demands     Who fired that shot? Each silent stands,     Ah, sweet perplexity!     This too was He.     I have an arbour wherein came a toad     Most hideous to see,     Immediate, seizing staff or goad,     I smote it cruelly.     Then all the place with subtle radiance glowed,     I looked, and it was He!