The Great War

from Late Songs, an electronic edition

The Little Brothers

God the Son in Paradise,

Being young, looked down to see

Sons of God in earth's disguise:

Are not these my brothers? said He.

Though they stray so far, He said,

From My Father's purpose kind,

His bright image overlaid

Mirrors now no more His mind.

All these children, brothers all,

Heirs to Heaven as it was meant;

Shall their Brother see them thrall

While His Heaven holds Him content?

Take My orb and diadem!

I am weary of My throne:

Let Me be as one of them,

Their own brother, yea, their own.

Let Me be of woman born,

Just as weak, as frail as these;

Subject to their shame and scorn,

Solaces and agonies.

Take Humanity for wear,

Put on Sorrow for a dress;

Know the piteous things they bear-

Poverty and loneliness.

God the Father, Whom His Son

Pleases well, in fatherhood

Smiled upon His only One:

Go, dear Son: the thought is good.

Those who have lost Paradise,

My poor stained and wounded flock,

Now My own Son pays the price

And the Key turns in the lock.

Son, there is a day to come

And Thy cry shakes Heaven that day,

While Thy Father's bowed in gloom;

Yet-I would not bid Thee stay.