  I have prayed to the Christ of the merciful eyes, I have prayed to the Lord of Hosts, I have prayed, but in vain, for God to rise And scatter these murderous ghosts, These horrible, beckoning ghosts that sign And beckon me where? ah, where? O little green god in your crystal shrine, You only will heed my prayer! The breath of your mouth is a powerful wind That whirls sorrow-shadows away; The light of your eyes burns the bonds that bind, I escape from the earth’s fell sway. The pallid figures in threatening line, They falter and tremble and flee. O little green god in your crystal shrine, Shed some of your glory on me! I have given you service, sincere and prolonged, I have given you love—ah, you know! Though I pray in a fane by your worshippers thronged, There is no one who worships you so. My hand and my heart and my brain, ah, divine Lord, master of living, I give, O little green god in your crystal shrine, Take these—and then bid me to live! By a green marble house in a garden of green, Green roses bloom ’neath a green sun, Where the maidens have eyes of an emerald sheen, And the strife and the labor are done, O there let me dwell, where the ravenous whine Of the earth ghosts is soundless and dead. O little green god in your crystal shrine, Your heavenly dream-shower shed! |
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