Another Spring

May Day comes again and goes
Reminder of those pagan ways--
Hopeful for more "sacred" sun,
Wishing for more golden rays.

O, my skinclad German forbears
Seeking Woden* in the skies

Lay aside your pagan fears--
Look to Christ and so arise.

Ah, Woden, Balder, Frigga, Thor*
"Hearing" prayers in days of yore,
If you had eyes to truly see
Faraway things that came to be:

Children now across the ocean,
First to follow Jesus' creed
Now have found a new religion:
"Gods" of lust and "gods" of greed.

May Day comes again and goes...
No longer balm for winter's woes.   
                         ---c.m.b. 2018

*Woden (Odin)- Wikipedia

Journey of the Magi

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
And the camels galled, sorefooted,
   refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling and running away,
  and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out,
   and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty
   and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees* on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away
in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for
pieces of silver**,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information,
  and so we continued
And arriving at evening,
not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was
(you might say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt.
I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different;
   this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us,
   like Death, our death***.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old
   dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.


---T.S. Eliot, 1927  (c) by owner

* A foreshadowing of the three crosses, Jesus's and the two thieves
**Judas betraying Jesus for 30 pieces of silver; the soldiers gambling for his cloak
**Christ came to suffer death for our sins.  Death was haunting even the birth.

The Destruction of Sennacherib*

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride:
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances uplifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword*,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
---George Gordon, Lord Byron

*II Kings 18: 13-19; II Chronicles 32: 1-21; Isaiah chapters 36-37. Sennacherib was an Assyrian king. A previous Assyrian king, Slamaneser, had carried the northern kingdom of Israel. When Sennacherib threatened Judah, Isaiah and King Hezekiah prayed to Yahweh (the Lord), and the Angel of God killed Sennacherib's best fighting men in camp. Sennacherib withdrew home, and was later killed by some of his own sons in the temple of his god.

The World is Too Much with Us

[Technically, the poet doesn't write this one in a Christian vein. He even borrows pagan mythology. But Wordsworth was Christian, and this is a great commentary on modern materialism.]

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
The sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune,
It moves us not. ---Great God! I'd rather be
A pagan suckled in a creed outworn.
So might I , standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn."
William Wordsworth