Nay, for He comes to loosen and unbind, To build the lofty purpose in the mind, To stir the heart’s deep chord.... No rude horns parleying, no shock of shields; Nor as of old the glory of the Lord To half-awakened shepherds in the fields, Looking with foolish faces on the rush Of the Great Splendor, when the pulsing hush Came o’er the hills, came o’er the heavens afar Where on their cliff of stars the watching seraphs are. Nor as of old when first the Strong One trod, The Power of sepulchers--our Risen God! When on that deathless morning in the dark, He quit the Garden of the Sepulcher, Setting the oleander boughs astir, And pausing at the gate with backward hark.-- Nay, nor as when the Hero-King of Heaven Came with upbraiding to His faint eleven, And found the world-way to His bright feet barred, And hopeless then because men’s hearts were hard. Nor will He come like carnal kings of old, With pomp of pilfered gold; Nor like the pharisees with pride of prayer; Nor as the stumbling foolish stewards dream In tedious argument and fruitless creed, But in the passion of the heart-warm deed Will come the Man Supreme. Yea, for He comes to lift the Public Care-- To build on Earth the Vision hung in air. This is the one fulfillment of His Law-- The one Fact in the mockeries that seem. This is the Vision that the prophets saw-- The Comrade Kingdom builded in their dream. No, not as in that elder day Comes now the King upon the human way. He comes with power: His white unfearing face Shines through the Social Passion of the race. He comes to frame the freedom of the Law, To touch these men of Earth With feeling of life’s oneness and its worth, A feeling of its mystery and awe. And when He comes into the world gone wrong, He will rebuild her beauty with a song. To every heart He will its own dream be: One moon has many phantoms in the sea. Out of the North the norns will cry to men: “Balder the Beautiful has come again!” The flutes of Greece will whisper from the dead: “Apollo has unveiled his sunbright head!” The stones of Thebes and Memphis will find voice: “Osiris comes: O tribes of Time, rejoice!” And social architects who build the State, Serving the Dream at citadel and gate, Will hail Him coming through the labor-hum. And glad quick cries will go from man to man: “Lo, He has come, our Christ the Artisan-- The King who loved the lilies, He has come!”