"_My son! My son! My more than son, My heart is full for thee! Yet, tho' I know thee so much more Than ever mortal man before,-- Yet, tho' I worship and adore,-- Woe's me!--and the heart of me_!" And ever they came by the Potter's Field, And thrust their bodies in, And ever the sick earth spat them out, Because of Iscariot's sin. They sped along a palace-wall, The feast waxed high inside,-- On Golgotha the Cross still stood, The Cross where man had nailed his God, Red was the Rood still with his blood,-- They drank--"_The Crucified_!" The revel gashed the sombre night, And fast the wine-cups plied,-- Time touched Eternity that day;-- God had come down to man that day;-- The world began anew that day;-- They drank--"_The Crucified_!" And ever again to the Potter's Field, The Souls in torment came, But the black quag boiled and writhed and coiled, And would have none of them. And everywhere strange shapes of death Walked in the fearsome gloom, For that last cry from Calvary Had rent in twain the Temple vail, And burst the gates of Doom. Through all the startled city, walked The saints that had been dead, And to the sorrowful in heart Holy comfort ministred. And when they met Iscariot, Sore hounded in the chase, They cried to him, for the Love of God, To seek God's grace. And ever to the Field of Death, The souls in torment came, Seeking the rest of the Blessed Dead,-- But earth would none of them. And as they whirled through a garden, They came on an empty tomb, The stone was gone, a soft light shone Full softly on the gloom. Bright was that Light, and wondrous bright, 'Twas brighter than the sun; As then it shone, so shines it now, And shall when Time is done. And all along the pathway Was a track of throbbing light; Where the Christ had gone His footsteps shone, Like stars in a velvet night. 'Twas the spent soul of Iscariot Was like the wind-blown dust, As nearer still, and near, and near, He bent and crept, in doubt, and fear, He came because he must. 'Twas the sick soul of Iscariot That drew from out the night And the full of his sin was known to him In the Shining of the Light. In the rim of the Light he laid him, Repented of his sin. "_I wotted not! I wotted not! Dear Master, take me in_!" And as he lay there sorrowing, Up came the felon crew. They flailed him with their dead bodies They heeded not his rue. They flailed him with their dead bodies, They heeded not their spleen. "_I wotted not! I wotted not! Dear Master, take me in_!" And then ... a Vision and a Voice,-- And the Word made manifest,-- "_Lay down thy load where I abode, And I will give thee rest_! "_And ye,--no more hunt Iscariot! He repents him of his sin. And never a soul that repenteth But he may enter in_. "_This Day the Door is opened That shall never close again, And never a soul that would come in Shall seek to come in vain_."