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Francis Thompson - Any Saint
Work rating: Low

His shoulder did I hold
Too high that I, o`erbold
      Weak one,
   Should lean thereon.

But He a little hath
Declined His stately path
      And my
   Feet set more high;

That the slack arm may reach
His shoulder, and faint speech
      Stir
   His unwithering hair.

And bolder now and bolder
I lean upon that shoulder
      So dear
   He is and near:

And with His aureole
The tresses of my soul
      Are blent
   In wished content.

Yes, this too gentle Lover
Hath flattering words to move her
      To pride
   By His sweet side.

Ah, Love! somewhat let be!
Lest my humility
      Grow weak
   When thou dost speak!

Rebate thy tender suit,
Lest to herself impute
      Some worth
   Thy bride of earth!

A maid too easily
Conceits herself to be
      Those things
   Her lover sings;

And being straitly wooed,
Believes herself the Good
      And Fair
   He seeks in her.

Turn something of Thy look,
And fear me with rebuke,
      That I
   May timorously

Take tremors in Thy arms,
And with contriv-ed charms
      Allure
   A love unsure.

Not to me, not to me,
Builded so flawfully,
      O God,
   Thy humbling laud!

Not to this man, but Man,--
Universe in a span;
      Point
   Of the spheres conjoint;

In whom eternally
Thou, Light, dost focus Thee!--
      Didst pave
   The way o` the wave;

Rivet with stars the Heaven,
For causeways to Thy driven
      Car
   In its coming far

Unto him, only him;
In Thy deific whim
      Didst bound
   Thy works` great round

In this small ring of flesh;
The sky`s gold-knotted mesh
      Thy wrist
   Did only twist

To take him in that net.--
Man! swinging-wicket set
      Between
   The Unseen and Seen;

Lo, God`s two worlds immense,
Of spirit and of sense,
      Wed
   In this narrow bed;

Yea, and the midge`s hymn
Answers the seraphim
      Athwart
   Thy body`s court!

Great arm-fellow of God!
To the ancestral clod
      Kin,
   And to cherubin;

Bread predilectedly
O` the worm and Deity!
      Hark,
   O God`s clay-sealed Ark,

To praise that fits thee, clear
To the ear within the ear,
      But dense
   To clay-sealed sense.

All the Omnific made
When in a word he said,
      (Mystery!)
   He uttered THEE;

Thee His great utterance bore,
O secret metaphor
      Of what
   Thou dream`st no jot!

Cosmic metonymy!
Weak world-unshuttering key!
      One
   Seal of Solomon!

Trope that itself not scans
Its huge significance,
      Which tries
   Cherubic eyes.

Primer where the angels all
God`s grammar spell in small,
      Nor spell
   The highest too well.

Point for the great descants
Of starry disputants;
      Equation
   Of creation.

Thou meaning, couldst thou see,
Of all which dafteth thee;
      So plain,
   It mocks thy pain;

Stone of the Law indeed,
Thine own self couldst thou read;
      Thy bliss
   Within thee is.

Compost of Heaven and mire,
Slow foot and swift desire!
      Lo,
   To have Yes, choose No;

Gird, and thou shalt unbind;
Seek not, and thou shalt find;
      To eat,
   Deny thy meat;

And thou shalt be fulfilled
With all sweet things unwilled:
      So best
   God loves to jest

With children small--a freak
Of heavenly hide-and-seek
      Fit
   For thy wayward wit,

Who art thyself a thing
Of whim and wavering;
      Free
   When His wings pen thee;

Sole fully blest, to feel
God whistle thee at heel;
      Drunk up
   As a dew-drop,

When He bends down, sun-wise,
Intemperable eyes;
      Most proud,
   When utterly bowed.

To feel thyself and be
His dear nonentity--
      Caught
   Beyond human thought

In the thunder-spout of Him,
Until thy being dim,
      And be
   Dead deathlessly.

Stoop, stoop; for thou dost fear
The nettle`s wrathful spear,
      So slight
   Art thou of might!

Rise; for Heaven hath no frown
When thou to thee pluck`st down,
      Strong clod!
   The neck of God.
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