A full-blown, modern, speculative sage Is on us, crammed with Egypt - with his dream Of Nile he seeks the folds of Bethlehem, And writes 'from Luxor' on the sacred page; The 'young child' came from Egypt; yet not so, As this vain scribe would have it - not the son Of an old Coptic frieze, but the Holy One Of Israel, Virgin-born! O shame and woe! But, O my Church, thou standest ever sure, Though meteors through thine open portals glow, Discolouring with strange lights, that come and go, Thine altars, and thy fonts, and vestments pure - Flashing their alien tinct on the true grain Of thy great dogmas - Evermore in vain. |