Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/243

 Turn to dance before the Ark! When the cup's last liquor slips Through the brain-worn cripple's lips, Ho! 'tis time to pray and mend, Sure of pardon in the end. First God's image you outwear, Live the beast within you bare, Then to Mercy cry your needs, Seeking God—as invalids! So, His Kingdom's overthrown. What should He with souls effete Grovelling at His mercy-seat? Said He not that then alone When your lifeblood pulses tense, Through all veins of soul and sense, Ye His kingdom shall inherit? Children ye must be to share it; No man hobbles through its gate. Come then, ye whose cheek is rife With the bloom of childhood yet To the greater Church of Life!

Open it then!

[Crying out as in anguish.]

No! Not this!

It has neither mark nor bound, But its floor the green earth is, Mead and mountain, sea and sound; And the overarching sky Is its only canopy. There shall all thy work be wrought