3 The frown of his face Before me, the hurtle of hell Behind, where, where was a, where was a place? I whirled out wings that spell And fled with a fling of the heart to the heart of the Host. My heart, but you were dovewinged, I can tell, Carrier-witted, I am bold to boast, To flash from the flame to the flame then, tower from the grace to the grace. 4 I am soft sift In an hourglass--at the wall Fast, but mined with a motion, a drift, And it crowds and it combs to the fall; I steady as a water in a well, to a poise, to a pane, But roped with, always, all the way down from the tall Fells or flanks of the voel, a vein Of the gospel proffer, a pressure, a principle, Christ's gift. 5 I kiss my hand To the stars, lovely-asunder Starlight, wafting him out of it; and Glow, glory in thunder; Kiss my hand to the dappled-with-damson west: Since, tho' he is under the world's splendour and wonder, His mystery must be instressed, stressed; For I greet him the days I meet him, and bless when I understand. 6 Not out of his bliss Springs the stress felt Nor first from heaven (and few know this) Swings the stroke dealt-- Stroke and a stress that stars and storms deliver, That guilt is hushed by, hearts are flushed by and melt-- But it rides time like riding a river (And here the faithful waver, the faithless fable and miss), 7 It dates from day Of his going in Galilee; Warm-laid grave of a womb-life grey; Manger, maiden's knee; The dense and the driven Passion, and frightful sweat; Thence the discharge of it, there its swelling to be, Though felt before, though in high flood yet-- What none would have known of it, only the heart, being hard at bay, 8 Is out with it! Oh, We lash with the best or worst Word last! How a lush-kept plush-capped sloe Will, mouthed to flesh-burst, Gush!--flush the man, the being with it, sour or sweet, Brim, in a flash, full!--Hither then, last or first, To hero of Calvary, Christ,'s feet-- Never ask if meaning it, wanting it, warned of it--men go. 9 Be adored among men, God, three-numbered form; Wring thy rebel, dogged in den, Man's malice, with wrecking and storm. Beyond saying sweet, past telling of tongue, Thou art lightning and love, I found it, a winter and warm; Father and fondler of heart thou hast wrung: Hast thy dark descending and most art merciful then.