High stretched upon the swinging yard,
I gather in the sheet;
But it is hard
And stiff, and one cries haste.
Then He that is most dear in my regard
Of all the crew gives aidance meet;
But from His hands, and from His feet,
A glory spreads wherewith the night is starred:
Moreover of a cup most bitter-sweet
With fragrance as of nard,
And myrrh, and cassia spiced,
He proffers me to taste.
Then I to Him:Art Thou the Christ?
He saithThou sayst.
Like to an ox
That staggers neath the mortal blow,
She grinds upon the rocks:
Then straight and low
Leaps forth the levelled line, and in our quarter locks
The cradles rigged; with swerving of the blast
We go,
Our Captain last
Demands
Who fired that shot? Each silent stands
Ah, sweet perplexity!
This too was He.
I have an arbour wherein came a toad
Most hideous to see
Immediate, seizing staff or goad,
I smote it cruelly.
Then all the place with subtle radiance glowed
I looked, and it was He!
