C. M. VERSCHOYLE

Crucifixion on the Mountain The soul would endure splendid martyrdoms, but her Lord lays upon her the ultimate reward of failure and of death. FOUND full many a hindrance on the road That led up to the summit of desire, Sharp rocks and wounding thorns ; and in the mire I fell, and soiled the garment I had care To keep so fair For the great rites awaiting me in Love’s abcde, Yet on I pressed, Dreaming of rest That should be sweeter for toil undergone, When on my Saviour’s breast Divine and human should be one.
614 C. M. VERSCHOYLE
Deep ran the chasms across the way, Chasms my wilfulness had made, But Love had cast a bridge above the spray Flung by the roaring waters far below ; And with the cross my strength, the cross my guide, My worser self for ever crucified, I climbed toward the line of snow That Love had laid Far up, to mark the final stage Of chill forlorn desertion, that should close My pilgrimage.
High on the summit shone the mystic cross Beside which life is death, and riches dross ; Not such the cross that companies my way, A harsh rude copy meet for every day, Beauty it lacks, untrimmed and harsh the wood. And bitter as Christ’s rood ; Heavy as death, no staff to life is this, But such a weight As leaves the soul unsoothed, disconsolate, And drags the body down to the abyss.
Upward I crawl, the dream of joy is past, I, that would share the sorrow of my Lord And feel the piercing sword Divide my flesh and spirit, now at last, Discern the failure I am forced to share, And see the garment I would keep so fair, Foul from the dirt of many a foolish fall The world might mock at. When I set my feet Upon the path I said— A martyrdom were sweet ; Come sword, come fire,