Faith's Difficulty

By Theodore Maynard

NOT these appal
The soul tip-toeing to belief:
The ribald call,
The last black anguish of the thief;

The fellowship
Of publican and Pharisee,

The harlot's lip
Passionate with humility;

Or the feet kissed
By her who was the Magdalen—

The sensualist
Is one among a world of men!

Oh, I can look
Upon another's drama; read

As in a book
Things unrelated to my need;

Give faith's assent
To that abysmal love outpoured—

But why was rent
Thy seamless coat for me, dear Lord?

Why didst Thou bow
Thy bleeding brows for my heart's good?

How shall I now
Reach to the mystic hardihood

Where I can take
For personal treasure all Thy loss,

When for my sake,
My sake, Thou didst endure the cross?

For my soul's worth
Was "It is finished!" loudly cried?

For me the birth,
The sorrows of the Crucified?