OH, I am tired out to-day.
The whole world leans against my door:
Cities and centuries. — I pray, —
For praying makes me brave once more.
I should have lived long, long ago,
Before this age of steel and fire.
I am not strong enough to throw
A noose around my soul’s desire,
And strangle it, because it cries
To keep its old unreasoned place
In some bright simple Paradise
Before a God’s too-human face.
I know that in this breathless fray
I am not fit to fight and cry.
My soul grows faint and far-away
From blood and shouting, till I fly,
A blinded coward, back to hide
My face against the dim old knees
Of that too-human God, denied
By these quick crashing centuries.
And there I learn deep secret things,
Too frail for speech, too strong for doubt:
How through the dark of demon-wings
The same still face of God gleams out;
How through the deadly riotous roar
The voice of God speaks on. And then
I trust Him, as one might, before
Faith grew too fond to comfort men.
I should have lived far, far away
From this great age of grime and gold.
For still, I know He hears me pray, —
That close, too-human God of old!