Nineteen Centuries Afterward

Master, master singer, Master of words unspoken,

Seven times was I born, and seven times have I died, Since your last hasty visit and our brief welcome. And behold I live again, Remembering a day and a night among the hills, When your tide lifted us up.

Thereafter many lands and many seas did I cross, And wherever I was led by saddle or sail Your name was prayer or argument.

Men would bless you or curse you; * The curse, a protest against failure, * The blessing, a hymn of the hunter Who comes back from the hills With provision for his mate.

Your friends are yet with us for comfort and support, And your enemies also, for strength and assurance.

Your mother is with us; I have beheld the sheen of her face in the countenance of all mothers; Her hand rocks cradles with gentleness, Her hand folds shrouds with tenderness.

And Mary Magdalene is yet in our midst, She who drank the vinegar of life, and then its wine.

And Judas, the man of pain and small ambitions, He too walks the earth; Even now he preys upon himself when his hunger find naught else, And seeks his larger self in self-destruction.

And John, he whose youth loved beauty, is here, And he sings though unheeded.