J EW BAITING still! Two thousand years are run
And still, it seems, good Master Chesterton,
Nothing's abated of the old offence.
Changing its shape, it never changes tense.
Other things were, this only was and is.
And whether Judas murder with a kiss,
Or Shylock catch a Christian with a gin,
All all's the same—the first enormous sin
Traps Judas in the moneylender's mesh
And cuts from Jesus' side the pound of flesh.
Nor is this all the punishment. For still
Through centuries to suffer were no ill
If we in human axes and the rod
Discerned the high pro-consulate of God
Chastening his people. But we are not chastened.
Age after age upon our hearts is fastened
The same cold malice, and for all they bleed
They burn for ever with unchanging greed.
Grosser with suffering we grow, and one
Calls to another “If in Babylon
Are gold and silver, be content with them,
Better found gold than lost Jerusalem.”
They forget Zion; in the market place
Rebuild the Temple for the Jewish race,
And thus from age to age do Jews like me
Have their revenge on Christianity,
Since thus from age to age Christians like you
Unchristian grow in hounding down the Jew.
And thus from age to age His will is done,
And Shylock's sins produce a Chesterton.
But since we both must suffer and both are
Bound in the orb of one outrageous star,
Hater and hated, for a little while
Let us together watch how mile on mile
The heavenly moon, all milky white, regains
Her gentle empery, and smooths the stains
Of red our star left in her heaven, thus
Bringing a respite even unto us
Before the red star strikes again. The riot
Of the heart for a moment sinks, and in the quiet
Like a cool bandage on the forehead be
Content a second with tranquillity.
And from your lips the secular taunt of dog
Banish, to hear what in the synagogue
We heard once at Barmitzvah (as we call
The confirmation, when the praying shawl
Is for the first time worn, and the boy waits
For law and manhood at the altar gates).
Whether 'tis true or no, it shall be true
Just long enough to build a bridge to you,
That hangs a shining second till your laughter
Reminds me of my ducats and my daughter.
It happened thus. When the last “adonoi”
Had faltered into silence of some boy
Whose voice was all a silver miracle
Of water, a voice echoed “Israel,”
A sweeter voice than even his, but broken
With a sorrowful thrill, as though the heart had spoken
Of countless generations doomed to pain
And none to ease them found. It cried again,
Or so we thought who listened, “Ye do well
To let the children come, O Israel,
But even these are lost and unforgiven,
Since not of these His kingdom and His heaven
Who at their fathers' fathers' hands was sold
In Calvary; and not their voice, though gold,
Nor innocent eyes, nor ways that children have
Of magic in their reaching hands, can save.
For, though ye offer these as sacrifice,
A nation's childhood is too small a price
To pay the interest upon the debt
That all your sorrows cannot liquidate.
O what a usury our God has made
On thirty pieces that the high priest paid!
Profit was none, but from the first the loss
That grew of the fourth ghost upon the Cross.
Two on the Cross were seen at Jesus' side,
The fourth, the fourth unseen and crucified
With piercéd hands and feet, and heart as well,
The ghost betrayed of traitor Israel.
Yourselves ye bought and sold, yourselves decreed
To the end of the world your doom. For who will heed
The prayer or utter mercy on a child,
However sweet he call? The heart is wild
Of your own ghost, and not the softest lamb
Of God escapes his sentence. For I am
The wraith of all your children from the first
Long ere their birth inexorably cursed.”
None saw the ghost. Some said it was the boy
That spoke. Yet someone answered “adonoi,
Thy will be done” and it was finished. All
Closer about their foreheads drew the shawl
Fearing to see, and as the darkness grows
Deeper save where above the altar glows
One lamp, in hearts that Pharoah would unharden
For pity rises not a cry for pardon,
But to the Mills of God a bitter call
“Grind quickly, since ye grind exceeding small!”
That is the tale. But mark, the moon in heaven
Is hid with clouds. This little time was given
To peace and to remembering one another
Who might have been (God knows) brother with brother.
But since 'tis over and the peace is done
Shylock returns and with him Chesterton.
And still, it seems, good Master Chesterton,
Nothing's abated of the old offence.
Changing its shape, it never changes tense.
Other things were, this only was and is.
And whether Judas murder with a kiss,
Or Shylock catch a Christian with a gin,
All all's the same—the first enormous sin
Traps Judas in the moneylender's mesh
And cuts from Jesus' side the pound of flesh.
Nor is this all the punishment. For still
Through centuries to suffer were no ill
If we in human axes and the rod
Discerned the high pro-consulate of God
Chastening his people. But we are not chastened.
Age after age upon our hearts is fastened
The same cold malice, and for all they bleed
They burn for ever with unchanging greed.
Grosser with suffering we grow, and one
Calls to another “If in Babylon
Are gold and silver, be content with them,
Better found gold than lost Jerusalem.”
They forget Zion; in the market place
Rebuild the Temple for the Jewish race,
And thus from age to age do Jews like me
Have their revenge on Christianity,
Since thus from age to age Christians like you
Unchristian grow in hounding down the Jew.
And thus from age to age His will is done,
And Shylock's sins produce a Chesterton.
But since we both must suffer and both are
Bound in the orb of one outrageous star,
Hater and hated, for a little while
Let us together watch how mile on mile
The heavenly moon, all milky white, regains
Her gentle empery, and smooths the stains
Of red our star left in her heaven, thus
Bringing a respite even unto us
Before the red star strikes again. The riot
Of the heart for a moment sinks, and in the quiet
Like a cool bandage on the forehead be
Content a second with tranquillity.
And from your lips the secular taunt of dog
Banish, to hear what in the synagogue
We heard once at Barmitzvah (as we call
The confirmation, when the praying shawl
Is for the first time worn, and the boy waits
For law and manhood at the altar gates).
Whether 'tis true or no, it shall be true
Just long enough to build a bridge to you,
That hangs a shining second till your laughter
Reminds me of my ducats and my daughter.
It happened thus. When the last “adonoi”
Had faltered into silence of some boy
Whose voice was all a silver miracle
Of water, a voice echoed “Israel,”
A sweeter voice than even his, but broken
With a sorrowful thrill, as though the heart had spoken
Of countless generations doomed to pain
And none to ease them found. It cried again,
Or so we thought who listened, “Ye do well
To let the children come, O Israel,
But even these are lost and unforgiven,
Since not of these His kingdom and His heaven
Who at their fathers' fathers' hands was sold
In Calvary; and not their voice, though gold,
Nor innocent eyes, nor ways that children have
Of magic in their reaching hands, can save.
For, though ye offer these as sacrifice,
A nation's childhood is too small a price
To pay the interest upon the debt
That all your sorrows cannot liquidate.
O what a usury our God has made
On thirty pieces that the high priest paid!
Profit was none, but from the first the loss
That grew of the fourth ghost upon the Cross.
Two on the Cross were seen at Jesus' side,
The fourth, the fourth unseen and crucified
With piercéd hands and feet, and heart as well,
The ghost betrayed of traitor Israel.
Yourselves ye bought and sold, yourselves decreed
To the end of the world your doom. For who will heed
The prayer or utter mercy on a child,
However sweet he call? The heart is wild
Of your own ghost, and not the softest lamb
Of God escapes his sentence. For I am
The wraith of all your children from the first
Long ere their birth inexorably cursed.”
None saw the ghost. Some said it was the boy
That spoke. Yet someone answered “adonoi,
Thy will be done” and it was finished. All
Closer about their foreheads drew the shawl
Fearing to see, and as the darkness grows
Deeper save where above the altar glows
One lamp, in hearts that Pharoah would unharden
For pity rises not a cry for pardon,
But to the Mills of God a bitter call
“Grind quickly, since ye grind exceeding small!”
That is the tale. But mark, the moon in heaven
Is hid with clouds. This little time was given
To peace and to remembering one another
Who might have been (God knows) brother with brother.
But since 'tis over and the peace is done
Shylock returns and with him Chesterton.
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