Complete Works of G K Chesterton, page 382
And over them, routed and reeled like cattle,
High over the turn of the tide of the battle,
High over noises that deafen and cover us,
Rang the Deliverer’s voice out over us.
‘Stand thou still, thou sun upon Gibeon,
Stand thou, moon, in the valley of Ajalon!
Shout thou, people, a cry like thunder,
For the kings of the earth are broken asunder.
Now we have said as the thunder says it,
Something is stronger than strength and slays it.
Now we have written for all time later,
Five kings are great, yet a law is greater.
Stare, O sun! in thine own great glory,
This is the turn of the whole world’s story.
Stand thou still, thou sun upon Gibeon,
Stand thou, moon, in the valley of Ajalon!
‘Smite! amid spear-blades blazing and breaking.
More than we know of is rising and making.
Stab with the javelin, crash with the car!
Cry! for we know not the thing that we are.
Stand, O sun! that in horrible patience
Smiled on the smoke and the slaughter of nations.
Thou shalt grow sad for a little crying,
Thou shalt be darkened for one man’s dying —
Stand thou still, thou sun upon Gibeon,
Stand thou, moon, in the valley of Ajalon!’
After the battle was broken and spent
Up to the hill the Deliverer went,
Flung up his arms to the storm-clouds flying,
And cried unto Israel, mightily crying,
‘Come up, O warriors! come up, O brothers!
Tribesmen and herdsmen, maidens and mothers;
The bondman’s son and the bondman’s daughter,
The hewer of wood and the drawer of water,
He that carries and he that brings,
And set your foot on the neck of kings.’
This is the story of Gibeon fight —
Where we smote the lords of the Amorite;
Where the banners of princes with slaughter were sodden.
And the beards of seers in the rank grass trodden;
Where the trees were wrecked by the wreck of cars,
And the reek of the red field blotted the stars;
Where the dead heads dropped from the swords that sever,
Because His mercy endureth for ever.
VULGARISED
All round they murmur, ‘O profane,
Keep thy heart’s secret hid as gold’;
But I, by God, would sooner be
Some knight in shattering wars of old,
In brown outlandish arms to ride,
And shout my love to every star
With lungs to make a poor maid’s name
Deafen the iron ears of war.
Here, where these subtle cowards crowd,
To stand and so to speak of love,
That the four corners of the world
Should hear it and take heed thereof.
That to this shrine obscure there be
One witness before all men given,
As naked as the hanging Christ,
As shameless as the sun in heaven.
These whimperers — have they spared to us
One dripping woe, one reeking sin?
These thieves that shatter their own graves
To prove the soul is dead within.
They talk; by God, is it not time
Some of Love’s chosen broke the girth,
And told the good all men have known
Since the first morning of the earth?
THE BALLAD OF GOD-MAKERS
A bird flew out at the break of day
From the nest where it had curled,
And ere the eve the bird had set
Fear on the kings of the world.
The first tree it lit upon
Was green with leaves unshed;
The second tree it lit upon
Was red with apples red;
The third tree it lit upon
Was barren and was brown,
Save for a dead man nailed thereon
On a hill above a town.
That right the kings of the earth were gay
And filled the cup and can;
Last night the kings of the earth were chill
For dread of a naked man.
‘If he speak two more words,’ they said,
’The slave is more than the free;
If he speak three more words,’ they said,
’The stars are under the sea.’
Said the King of the East to the King of the West,
I wot his frown was set,
‘Lo; let us slay him and make him as dung,
It is well that the world forget.’
Said the King of the West to the King of the East,
I wot his smile was dread,
‘Nay, let us slay him and make him a god,
It is well that our god be dead.’
They set the young man on a hill,
They nailed him to a rod;
And there in darkness and in blood
They made themselves a god.
And the mightiest word was left unsaid,
And the world had never a mark,
And the strongest man of the sons of men
Went dumb into the dark.
Then hymns and harps of praise they brought,
Incense and gold and myrrh,
And they thronged above the seraphim,
The poor dead carpenter.
‘Thou art the prince of all,’ they sang,
’Ocean and earth and air.’
Then the bird flew on to the cruel cross,
And hid in the dead man’s hair.
‘Thou art the sun of the world,’ they cried,
’Speak if our prayers be heard.’
And the brown bird stirred in the dead man’s hair,
And it seemed that the dead man stirred.
Then a shriek went up like the world’s last cry
From all nations under heaven,
And a master fell before a slave
And begged to be forgiven.
They cowered, for dread in his wakened eyes
The ancient wrath to see;
And the bird flew out of the dead Christ’s hair,
And lit on a lemon-tree.
AT NIGHT
How many million stars there be,
That only God hath numberéd;
But this one only chosen for me
In time before her face was fled.
Shall not one mortal man alive
Hold up his head?
THE WOOD-CUTTER
We came behind him by the wall,
My brethren drew their brands,
And they had strength to strike him down —
And I to bind his hands.
Only once, to a lantern gleam,
He turned his face from the wall,
And it was as the accusing angel’s face
On the day when the stars shall fall.
I grasped the axe with shaking hands,
I stared at the grass I trod;
For I feared to see the whole bare heavens
Filled with the face of God.
I struck: the serpentine slow blood
In four arms soaked the moss —
Before me, by the living Christ,
The blood ran in a cross.
Therefore I toil in forests here
And pile the wood in stacks,
And take no fee from the shivering folk
Till I have cleansed the axe.
But for a curse God cleared my sight,
And where each tree doth grow
I see a life with awful eyes,
And I must lay it low.
ART COLOURS
On must we go: we search dead leaves,
We chase the sunset’s saddest flames,
The nameless hues that o’er and o’er
In lawless wedding lost their names.
God of the daybreak! Better be
Black savages; and grin to gird
Our limbs in gaudy rags of red,
The laughing-stock of brute and bird;
And feel again the fierce old feast,
Blue for seven heavens that had sufficed,
A gold like shining hoards, a red
Like roses from the blood of Christ.
THE TWO WOMEN
Lo! very fair is she who knows the ways
Of joy: in pleasure’s mocking wisdom old,
The eyes that might be cold to flattery, kind;
The hair that might be grey with knowledge, gold.
But thou art more than these things, O my queen,
For thou art clad in ancient wars and tears.
And looking forth, framed in the crown of thorns,
I saw the youngest face in all the spheres.
THE WILD KNIGHT
The wasting thistle whitens on my crest,
The barren grasses blow upon my spear,
A green, pale pennon: blazon of wild faith
And love of fruitless things: yea, of my love,
Among the golden loves of all the knights,
Alone: most hopeless, sweet, and blasphemous,
The love of God:
I hear the crumbling creeds
Like cliffs washed down by water, change, and pass;
I hear a noise of words, age after age,
A new cold wind that blows across the plains,
And all the shrines stand empty; and to me
All these are nothing: priests and schools may doubt
Who never have believed; but I have loved.
Ah friends, I know it passing well, the love
Wherewith I love; it shall not bring to me
Return or hire or any pleasant thing —
Ay, I have tried it: Ay, I know its roots.
Earthquake and plague have burst on it in vain
And rolled back shattered —
Babbling neophytes!
Blind, startled fools — think you I know it not?
Think you to teach me? Know I not His ways?
Strange-visaged blunders, mystic cruelties.
All! all! I know Him, for I love Him. Go!
So, with the wan waste grasses on my spear,
I ride for ever, seeking after God.
My hair grows whiter than my thistle plume,
And all my limbs are loose; but in my eyes
The star of an unconquerable praise:
For in my soul one hope for ever sings,
That at the next white corner of a road
My eyes may look on Him….
Hush — I shall know
The place when it is found: a twisted path
Under a twisted pear-tree — this I saw
In the first dream I had ere I was born,
Wherein He spoke….
But the grey clouds come down
In hail upon the icy plains: I ride,
Burning for ever in consuming fire.
THE WILD KNIGHT
A dark manor-house shuttered and unlighted, outlined against a pale sunset: in front a large, but neglected, garden. To the right, in the foreground, the porch of a chapel, with coloured windows lighted. Hymns within.
Above the porch a grotesque carved bracket, supporting a lantern. Astride of it sits CAPTAIN REDFEATHER, a flagon in his hand.
REDFEATHER.
I have drunk to all I know of,
To every leaf on the tree,
To the highest bird of the heavens,
To the lowest fish of the sea.
What toast, what toast remaineth,
Drunk down in the same good wine,
By the tippler’s cup in the tavern,
And the priest’s cup at the shrine?
[A Priest comes out, stick in hand, and looks right and left.]
VOICES WITHIN.
The brawler …
PRIEST.
He has vanished
REDFEATHER.
To the stars.
[The Priest looks up.]
PRIEST [angrily].
What would you there, sir?
REDFEATHER.
Give you all a toast.
[Lifts his flagon. More priests come out.]
I see my life behind me: bad enough —
Drink, duels, madness, beggary, and pride,
The life of the unfit: yet ere I drop
On Nature’s rubbish heap, I weigh it all,
And give you all a toast —
[Reels to his feet and stands.]
The health of God!
[They all recoil from him.]
Let’s give the Devil of the Heavens His due!
He that made grass so green, and wine so red,
Is not so black as you have painted him.
[Drinks.]
PRIEST.
Blaspheming profligate!
REDFEATHER [hurls the flagon among them.]
Howl! ye dumb dogs,
I named your King — let me have one great shout,
Flutter the seraphim like startled birds;
Make God recall the good days of His youth
Ere saints had saddened Him: when He came back
Conqueror of Chaos in a six days’ war,
With all the sons of God shouting for joy …
PRIEST.
And you — what is your right, and who are you,
To praise God?
REDFEATHER.
A lost soul. In earth or heaven
What has a better right?
PRIEST.
Go, pagan, go!
Drink, dice, and dance: take no more thought than blind
Beasts of the field….
REDFEATHER.
Or … lilies of the field,
To quote a pagan sage. I go my way.
PRIEST [solemnly].
And when Death comes….
REDFEATHER.
He shall not find me dead.
[Puts on his plumed hat. The priests go out.]
REDFEATHER.
These frozen fools….
[The Lady Olive comes out of the chapel. He sees her.]
Oh, they were right enough.
Where shall I hide my carrion from the sun?
[Buries his face. His hat drops to the ground.]
OLIVE [looking up.]
Captain, are you from church? I saw you not.
REDFEATHER.
No, I am here.
[Lays his hand on a gargoyle.]
I, too, am a grotesque,
And dance with all the devils on the roof.
OLIVE [with a strange smile.]
For Satan, also, I have often prayed.
REDFEATHER [roughly].
Satan may worry women if he will,
For he was but an angel ere he fell,
But I — before I fell — I was a man.
OLIVE.
He too, my Master, was a man: too strong
To fear a strong man’s sins: ’tis written He
Descended into hell.
REDFEATHER.
Write, then, that I
[Leaps to the ground before her.]
Descended into heaven….
You are ill?
OLIVE.
No, well….
REDFEATHER.
You speak the truth — you are the Truth —
Lady, say once again then, ‘I am well.’
OLIVE.
I — ah! God give me grace — I am nigh dead.
REDFEATHER [quietly.]
Lord Orm?
OLIVE.
Yes — yes.
REDFEATHER.
Is in your father’s house —
Having the title-deeds — would drive you forth.
Homeless, and with your father sick to death,
Into this winter, save on a condition
Named….
OLIVE.
And unnameable. Even so; Lord Orm —
Ah! do you know him?
REDFEATHER.
Ay, I saw him once.
The sun shone on his face, that smiled and smiled,
A sight not wholesome to the eyes of man.
OLIVE.
Captain, I tell you God once fell asleep.
And in that hour the world went as it would;
Dogs brought forth cats, and poison grew in grapes,
And Orm was born….
REDFEATHER.
Why, curse him! can he not
Be kicked or paid?
OLIVE [feverishly].
Hush! He is just behind
There in the house — see how the great house glares,
Glares like an ogre’s mask — the whole dead house
Possessed with bestial meaning….
[Screams]
Ah! the face!
The whole great grinning house — his face! his face!
His face!
REDFEATHER [in a voice of thunder, pointing away from the house].
Look there — look there!
OLIVE.
What is it? What?
REDFEATHER.
I think it was a bird.
OLIVE.
What thought you, truly?
REDFEATHER.
I think a mighty thought is drawing near.
[Enter THE WILD KNIGHT.]
THE WILD KNIGHT.
That house….
[Points.]
OLIVE.
Ah Christ! [Shudders.] I had forgotten it.
THE WILD KNIGHT [still pointing].
That house! the house at last, the house of God,
Wherein God makes an evening feast for me.
The house at last: I know the twisted path
Under the twisted pear-tree: this I saw
In the first dream I had ere I was born.
It is the house of God. He welcomes me.
[Strides forward.]
REDFEATHER.
That house. God’s blood!
OLIVE [hysterically].
Is not this hell’s own wit?
THE WILD KNIGHT.
God grows impatient, and His wine is poured,
His bread is broken.
[Rushes forward.]
REDFEATHER [leaps between].
Stand away, great fool,
There is a devil there!
THE WILD KNIGHT [draws his sword, and waves it as he rushes].
God’s house! — God’s house!
REDFEATHER [plucks out his own sword].
Better my hand than his.
[The blades clash.]
God alone knows
What That within might do to you, poor fool,
I can but kill you.
[They fight. OLIVE tries to part them.]
