  You turn the unsmitten other cheek, In silence welcoming God’s grace, Disdaining, though they scourge, to speak, Smiling forgiveness face to face. You plunge your arms in tyrant flame, From ravening beasts you do not fly, Calling aloud on one sweet Name, Hosannah-singing till you die. So angered by your undefeat, Revenge through Christ they meditate, Disciples at the bishop’s feet They learn this newer sort of hate, This unresisting meek assault On furious foe or stubborn friend, This virtue purged of every fault By furtherance of the martyr’s end, This baffling stroke of naked pride, When satires fail and curses fail To pierce the justice’s tough hide, To abash the cynics of the jail. Oh, not less violent, not less keen And barbÈd more than murder’s blade! “The brook,” you sigh, “that washes clean, The flower of love that will not fade!” |
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