Page:Prometheus Bound, and other poems.djvu/231

 Was on that Head, and poured for burial And not for domination in men's sight. What are these churches? The old temple wall Doth overlook them juggling with the sleight Of surplice, candlestick, and altar-pall. East church and west church, ay, north church and south, Rome's church and England's—let them all repent, And make concordats 'twixt their soul and mouth, Succeed St. Paul by working at the tent, Become infallible guides by speaking truth, And excommunicate their own pride that bent And cramped the souls of men. Why, even here, Priestcraft burns out; the twined linen blazes, Not, like asbestos, to grow white and clear, But all to perish!—while the fire-smell raises To life some swooning spirits who, last year, Lost breath and heart in these church-stifled places. Why, almost, through this Pius, we believed The priesthood could be an honest thing, he smiled So saintly while our corn was being sheaved For his own granaries. Showing now defiled His hireling hands, a better help's achieved Than if he blessed us shepherd-like and mild. False doctrine, strangled by its own amen, Dies in the throat of all this nation. Who Will speak a pope's name, as they rise again? What woman or what child will count him true? What dreamer praise him with the voice or pen? What man fight for him?—Pius has his due.