No one present seemed conscious that all that was going on here was the greatest blasphemy, and a mockery of that same Christ in whose name it was being done. No one seemed to realize that the gilt cross with the enamel medallions at the ends, which the priest held out to the people to be kissed, was nothing but the emblem of that gallows on which Christ had been executed for denouncing just what was going on here. That these priests, who imagined they were eating and drinking the body and blood of Christ in the form of bread and wine, did in reality eat and drink his flesh and his blood, only not as wine and bits of bread, but by ensnaring "these little ones" with whom he identified himself, by depriving them of the greatest blessings and submitting them to most cruel torments, and by hiding from men the tidings of great joy which he had brought--that thought did not enter the mind of any one present. Before a Crucifix BY ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE (English poet of nature and liberty, 1837-1909) Here, down between the dusty trees, At this lank edge of haggard wood, Women with labor-loosened knees, With gaunt backs bowed by servitude, Stop, shift their loads, and pray, and fare Forth with souls easier for the prayer. The suns have branded black, the rains Striped gray this piteous God of theirs; The face is full of prayers and pains, To which they bring their pains and prayers; Lean limbs that shew the laboring bones, And ghastly mouth that gapes and groans. God of this grievous people, wrought After the likeness of their race, By faces like thine own besought, Thine own blind helpless, eyeless face, I too, that have nor tongue nor knee For prayer, I have a word to thee. It was for this then, that thy speech Was blown about the world in flame And men's souls shot up out of reach Of fear or lust or thwarting shame-- That thy faith over souls should pass As sea-winds burning the grey grass? It was for this, that prayers like these Should spend themselves about thy feet, And with hard overlabored knees Kneeling, these slaves of men should beat Bosoms too lean to suckle sons And fruitless as their orisons? It was for this, that men should make Thy name a fetter on men's necks, Poor men made poorer for thy sake, And women withered out of sex? It was for this, that slaves should be, Thy word was passed to set men free? The nineteenth wave of the ages rolls Now deathward since thy death and birth. Hast thou fed full men's starved-out souls? Hast thou brought freedom upon earth? Or are there less oppressions done In this wild world under the sun?