Simon Surnamed Peter

Time that has lifted you over them all,         O'er John and o'er Paul;         Writ you in capitals, made you the chief         Word on the leaf,         How did you, Peter, when ne'er on His breast         You leaned and were blest,         And none except Judas and you broke the faith         To the day of His death,         You, Peter, the fisherman, worthy of blame,         Arise to this fame?         'Twas you in the garden who fell into sleep         And the watch failed to keep,         When Jesus was praying and pressed with the weight         Of the oncoming fate.         'Twas you in the court of the palace who warmed         Your hands as you stormed         At the damsel, denying Him thrice, when she cried:         "He walked at his side!"         You, Peter, a wave, a star among clouds, a reed in the wind,         A guide of the blind,         Both smiter and flyer, but human alway, I protest,         Beyond all the rest.         When at night by the boat on the sea He appeared         Did you wait till he neared?         You leaped in the water, not dreading the worst         In your joy to be first         To greet Him and tell Him of all that had passed         Since you saw Him the last.         You had slept while He watched, but fierce were you, fierce and awake         When they sought Him to take,         And cursing, no doubt, as you smote off, as one of the least,         The ear of the priest.         Then Andrew and all of them fled, but you followed Him,          hoping for strength         To save him at length         Till you lied to the damsel, oh penitent Peter, and crept,         Into hiding and wept.         Oh well! But he asked all the twelve, "Who am I?"         And who made reply?         As you leaped in the sea, so you spoke as you smote with the sword;         "Thou art Christ, even Lord!"         John leaned on His breast, but he asked you, your strength to foresee,         "Nay, lovest thou me?"         Thrice over, as thrice you denied Him, and chose you to lead         His sheep and to feed;         And gave you, He said, the keys of the den and the fold         To have and to hold.         You were a poor jailer, oh Peter, the dreamer, who saw         The death of the law         In the dream of the vessel that held all the four-footed beasts,         Unclean for the priests;         And heard in the vision a trumpet that all men are worth         The peace of the earth         And rapture of heaven hereafter, - oh Peter, what power         Was yours in that hour:         You warder and jailer and sealer of fates and decrees,         To use the big keys         With which to reveal and fling wide all the soul and the scheme         Of the Galilee dream,         When you flashed in a trice, as later you smote with the sword:         "Thou art Christ, even Lord!"         We men, Simon Peter, we men also give you the crown         O'er Paul and o'er John.         We write you in capitals, make you the chief         Word on the leaf.         We know you as one of our flesh, and 'tis well         You are warder of hell,         And heaven's gatekeeper forever to bind and to loose -         Keep the keys if you choose.         Not rock of you, fire of you make you sublime         In the annals of time.         You were called by Him, Peter, a rock, but we give you the name         Of Peter the Flame.         For you struck a spark, as the spark from the shock         Of steel upon rock.         The rock has his use but the flame gives the light         In the way in the night: -         Oh Peter, the dreamer, impetuous, human, divine,         Gnarled branch of the vine!