The Great War

from Late Songs, an electronic edition

The Tryst

Lest that His love should nod asleep,

His fainting arms fall by His side,

Lest He forget His tryst to keep,

One sinner turn away denied,

Wide on the Cross His arms are spread,

His bosom for the whole world's head.

Now, now, Himself He will not save,

His feet are halt for evermore.

Yea, though they lay Him in the grave

And seal the stone and guard the door,

He keeps the place He chose upon

The Hill: His anguish is not done.

The nails of Love have fixed Him there,

He will not take His bed and go.

His feet are hid in Magdalen's hair;

Through all the centuries, sad and slow,

While Heaven awaits Him He delays,

Love's Prisoner through the unending days.

He broods above the battle-field,

His heavy head upon His breast:

Come, all ye wounded, and be healed.

Come, all ye broken hearts, and rest.

Come home, come home, black sheep and white,

In from the darkness to the light.