Friar Yves

Said Friar Yves: "God will bless     Saint Louis' other-worldliness.     Whatever the fate be, still I fare     To fight for the Holy Sepulcher.     If I survive, I shall return     With precious things from Palestine -     Gold for my purse, spices and wine,     Glory to wear among my kin.     Fame as a warrior I shall win.     But, otherwise, if I am slain     In Jesus' cause, my soul shall earn     Immortal life washed white from sin."     Said Friar Yves: "Come what will -     Riches and glory, death and woe -     At dawn to Palestine I go.     Whether I live or die, I gain     To fly the tepid good and ill     Of daily living in Champagne,     Where those who reach salvation lose     The treasures, raptures of the earth,     Captured, possessed, and made to serve     The gospel love of Jesus' birth,     Sacrifice, death; where even those     Passing from pious works and prayer     To paradise are not received     As those who battled, strove, and lived,     And periled bodies, as I choose     To peril mine, and thus to use     Body and soul to build the throne     Of Louis the Saint, where Joseph's care     Lay Jesus under a granite stone."     Then Friar Yves buckled on     His breastplate, and, at break of dawn,     With crossboy, halberd took his way,     Walked without resting, without pause,     Till the sun hovered at midday     Over a tree of glistening leaves,     Where a spring gurgled. "Hunger gnaws     My stomach," whispered Friar Yves.     "If I," he sighed, "could only gain,     Like yonder spring, an inner source     Of life, and need not dew or rain     Of human love, or human friends,     And thus accomplish my soul's ends     Within myself! No," said the friar;     "There is one water and one fire;     There is one Spirit, which is God.     And what are we but streams and springs     Through which He takes His wanderings?     Lord, I am weak, I am afraid;     Show me the way!" the friar prayed.     "Where do I flow and to what end?     Am I of Thee, or do I blend     Hereafter with Thee?"             Yves heard,     While praying, sounds as when the sod     Teems with a swarm of insect things.     He dropped his halberd to look down,     And then his waking vision blurred,     As one before a light will frown.     His inner ear was caught and stirred     By voices; then the chestnut tree     Became a step beside a throne.     Breathless he lay and fearfully,     While on his brain a vision shone.     Said a Great Voice of sweetest tone:     "The time has come when I must take     The form of man for mankind's sake.     This drama is played long enough     By creatures who have naught of me,     Save what comes up from foam of the sea     To crawling moss or swimming weeds,     At last to man. From heaven in flame,     Pure, whole, and vital, down I fly,     And take a mortal's form and name,     And labor for the race's needs."     Then Friar Yves dreamed the sky     Flushed like a bride's face rosily,     And shot to lightning from its bloom.     The world leaped like a babe in the womb,     And choral voices from heaven's cope     Circled the earth like singing stars:     "O wondrous hope, O sweetest hope,     O passion realized at last;     O end of hunger, fear, and wars,     O victory over the bottomless, vast     Valley of Death!"          A silence fell,     Broke by the voice of Gabriel:     "Music may follow this, O Lord!     Music I hear; I hear discord     Through ages yet to be, as well.     There will be wars because of this,     And wars will come in its despite.     It's noon on the world now; blackest night     Will follow soon. And men will miss     The meaning, Lord! There will be strife     'Twixt Montanist and Ebionite,     Gnostic, Mithraist, Manichean,     'Twixt Christian and the Saracen.     There will be war to win the place     Where you bend death to sovereign life.     Armed kings will battle for the grace     Of rulership, for power and gold     In the name of Jesus. Men will hold     Conclaves of swords to win surcease     Of doctrines of the Prince of Peace.     The seed is good, Lord, make the ground     Good for the seed you scatter round!"     Said the Great Voice of sweetest tone:     "The gardener sprays his plants and trees     To drive out lice and stop disease.     After the spraying, fruit is grown     Ruddy and plump. The shortened eyes     Of men can see this end, although     Leaves wither or a whole tree dies     From what the gardener does to grow     Apples and plums of sweeter flesh.     The gardener lives outside the tree;     The gardener knows the tree can see     What cure is needed, plans afresh     An end foreseen, and there's the will     Wherewith the gardener may fulfil     The orchard's destiny."         So He spake.     And Friar Yves seemed to wake,     But did not wake, and only sunk     Into another dreaming state,     Wherein he saw a woman's form     Leaning against the chestnut's trunk.     Her body was virginal, white, and straight,     And glowed like a dawning, golden, warm,     Behind a robe of writhing green:     As when a rock's wall makes a screen     Whereon the crisscross reflect moves     Of circling water under the rays     Of April sunlight through the sprays     Of budding branches in willow groves -     A liquid mosaic of green and gold -     Thus was her robe.             But to behold     Her face was to forget the youth     Of her white bosom. All her hair     Was tangled serpents; she did wear     A single eye in the middle brow.     Her cheeks were shriveled, and one tooth     Stuck from shrunken gums. A bough     O'ershadowed her the while she gripped     A pail in either hand. One dripped     Clear water; one, ethereal fire.     Then to the Graia spoke the friar:     "Have mercy! Tell me your desire     And what you are?"          Then the Graia said:     "My body is Nature and my head     Is Man, and God has given me     A seeing spirit, strong and free,     Though by a single eye, as even     Man has one vision at a time.     I lift my pails up; mark them well.     With this fire I will burn up heaven,     And with this water I will quench     The flames of hell's remotest trench,     That men may work in righteousness.     Not for the fears of an after hell,     Nor for the rewards which heaven will bless     The soul with when the mountains nod     And the sun darkens, but for love     Of Man and Life, and love of God.     Now look!"         She dashed the pail of fire     Against the vault of heaven. It fell     As would a canopy of blue     Burned by a soldier's careless torch.     She dashed the water into hell,     And a great steam rose up with the smell     Of gaseous coals, which seemed to scorch     All things which on the good earth grew.     "Now," said the Graia, "loiterer,     Awake from slumber, rise and speed     To fight for the Holy Sepulcher -     Nothing is left but Life, indeed -     I have burned heaven! I have quenched hell."     Friar Yves no longer slept;     Friar Yves awoke and wept.