The Dumb Idol

FAR, far away, within a lonely vale
There stands a temple old — so old and gray,
Unwarmed by rays of sunshine; only pale
Cold moonbeams o'er it play.
Yet nearer draw and see what crimson flood
Of light streams through the windows: never rose
Could flush so deep a red, but that high Blood
For sin that ever flows.
Around the altar, deep in silent prayer,
The faithful kneel beside the ivory shrine
That still enfolds, with all the ancient care,
An image once divine.
A king draws near in purple robes of state,
Bearing the sceptre of his sovereignty;
A bishop comes, and all around him wait
His priests full reverently.
So as the years go by, they come to plead
Before the altar, happier to return,
But for the poor dumb idol 'tis decreed
No light of hope shall burn.
It looks not down upon the kneeling throng;
But from its staring stony eyes there go
Great waves of torturing anguish, not less strong
For being silent woe.
Ah, deeper woe than ever man has known,
Ah, ceaseless longing that no sacrifice
Ever assuages — there above the throne
Poor pleading, helpless eyes!
At times it seems the features cold and set
Some gentler thought of passing hope would tell;
And one could fancy that a tear made wet
The cheeks immovable.
Yet, clasped like some strange book of sorcery,
Those lips can never speak. The curse must come
That sterner godheads have pronounced on thee,
Sad idol pale and dumb!
Full many a Christ has trod the long steep way
Unto all souls God's mercy to impart;
Surely the sad-eyed Nazarene shall lay
His hand upon thy heart?
His grace is shed abroad from rise of sun
Unto the furthest islands of the west:
Shalt thou, when all the healing work is done.
Thou only, not be blest?
Slow cycles roll against time's timeless reef,
(The eyes of Mary shine with mercy mild!)
But still the idol stands in silent grief,
Helpless, unreconciled.
Thus shall it wait, speechless for evermore,
Until at last the fateful trumpet call,
And all the lands and all the oceans o'er,
The Dusk of Idols fall!