The Wood-Cutter

We came behind him by the wall,     My brethren drew their brands,     And they had strength to strike him down--     And I to bind his hands.     Only once, to a lantern gleam,     He turned his face from the wall,     And it was as the accusing angel's face     On the day when the stars shall fall.     I grasped the axe with shaking hands,     I stared at the grass I trod;     For I feared to see the whole bare heavens     Filled with the face of God.     I struck: the serpentine slow blood     In four arms soaked the moss--     Before me, by the living Christ,     The blood ran in a cross.     Therefore I toil in forests here     And pile the wood in stacks,     And take no fee from the shivering folk     Till I have cleansed the axe.     But for a curse God cleared my sight,     And where each tree doth grow     I see a life with awful eyes,     And I must lay it low.