Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE SON, by JOACHIM GASQUET


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE SON, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: I wish no more to walk the night. My heart
Last Line: And to the paradise thou namest love'
Subject(s): Jesus Christ; Kisses; Love; Sons


I WISH no more to walk the night. My heart
Would fain adore and worship, yea, and start
Unto the fount of life and Mercy's springs.
To Thee, O God, my soul its offering brings
-- This pitiable flesh, this foolish mind.
I thirst and hunger for Thee, Lord, and, blind,
I seek Love's sign; one look would nourish me.
Tired am I of the maze of vanity
And from the worldly fair my soul comes back.
Trembling it lies before Thee, naked, black,
Stifling its cries and stretching hands in plea,
'Twixt hope and doubt, yet not beholding Thee.

Thy Light has said: "My son, love solitude,
E'en though the way to Me be sad and rude
And thou art still constrained to turn aside.
Oft thou shalt wipe thy sweaty brow and chide,
Yet bid the sinful lusts within thee die;
Yea, strangle all thy sins and mortify
The follies that with kisses fill thy mouth,
And I will light thy mind and quench thy drouth."

Thy Love has said: "Let there be peace within!
Break bread with all; to thee the poor are kin.
By love thy heart's salvation shall be won;
My Mother's arm shall aid thee, O My son.
The wine thou pourest and the alms love-given
Shall plait the immortal crown for thee in heaven.
Beside the dying thou shalt kneel with Me
And in the hearts disconsolate shalt see
Thy Saviour's visage. What shall worldly lore
Or all the wisdom of the seers of yore
Advantage thee, if thou lift not from dread
Thy brother's soul, give neither oil nor bread
Such as the widow kneaded 'neath the smile
Of God My Father? O My son, not guile
Shall bring thee to Me. Thy belief is loss
If thou shalt leave Me lone to bear My cross
And lay thee down when others quake and groan.

"In that dark garden where the apostles prayed
And I besought the Almighty in the shade,
Yea, when My Agony dropped bloody sweat
I saw thee, O My son; My cheeks were wet
For all the sinners of the world. I bled
For them, for thee, the live, the unborn, the dead.
It was for all, for thee, that, 'spite the scorns,
In love I girt My brows with grievous thorns.
It was for thee, for all, My Mother's hands
Embraced My pierced feet, and that the bands
About My Tomb were bound and, spirit-shod,
Upon the third day I arose. . . ."

O God,

The Father and the Son, bind up this heart
Of wretchedness. Thy crucifixion's smart
I have forgotten in Life's vanities.
How came they to be more desired than this?
I weep and fall with burden of my shame;
And yet my heart in measure could not claim
One drop of all the sorrow-foaming flood
That bathed Thy broken body with its blood.

But now Thy Word speaks to me: "Cling, O cling!
For thou hast found the Jews' derided King
And Him for Whose rich robe the dice were cast.
My son, dost thou behold Me? Now at last
I fill thee as I did Jerusalem.
Adore! I am the Babe of Bethlehem,
Master of Lazarus and the Magdalene.
Oh, weep, weep, weep until thy soul is clean,
For I am that I am. The sorrows sing
The golden psalms of David e'er a-wing
Before My footsteps, and the teardrops shine
With all the brightness of the dews divine.
Come unto Me. In Me the souls on fire,
Ever increasing, are a jubilant choir.
My son, Oh, look not back on Bypath Meadow
And thou shalt leave the Valley of the Shadow,
Where Sin has so bemired thee. Say not nay,
But let Me draw thee. Lo, I lead the way
For thy transfigured soul to God above
And to the paradise thou namest Love'





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