184
THE SWORD OF SONG
Christian
mystics not
true Christians,
What think ye
of Crowley?
His interlo-
cutor dis-
missed, not
with a jest, but
with a warning.
Poet yawns.
cum !
Now who dares
Call me no Christian? And, who cares?
Read ; you will find the Master of Balliol,
Discarding Berkeley, Locke, and Paley, ’Il
Resume such thoughts and label clear
“My Christianity lies here !”
With such religion who finds fault?
Stay, it seems foolish to exalt
Religion to such heights as these,
Refine the actual agonies
To nothings, lest the mystic jeer
‘‘ So logic bends its line severe
Back to my involuted curve !”
These are my thoughts. I shall not swerve.
Take them, and see what. dooms deserve
Their rugged grandeur—heaven or hell?
Mind the dark doorway there! ® Farewell !
How tedious I always find
That special manner of my mind !
Aum ! let us meditate aright
On that adorable One Light,
Divine Savitri! So may She
Illume our minds! So mote it be!
795
800
805
810
815