“He divideth his spoils” (The disciple)

(The Saviour of the World, Vol VI Book III Poem XXXIII)

“What be the spoils, my Lord, Thou bidd’st me share?
And I, a coward soul, how shall I dare
An onset on this mighty man prepare?”

“The spoils, My Son, they be the souls of men
That, come as fox in the night he captured then,
When they reposed secure in folded pen.”

“But what, my Lord, if he should rise in might
And seize on me, so ill prepared to fight,
Prisoning me where there is no chance of flight?”

“Nay, see’st thou not, his armour he has lost
In which he trusted, bought at heavy cost;
He lies supine, deserted of his host;

“His ancient fame holds men in terror still,
And many souls he keeps against their will;
But hasten thou, their good desires fulfil.

“Take thou thy Captain’s mandate, take His sword;
No weapon hath he to resist My word,
Strong to set free all souls that once have heard.

“Return triumphant with men’s souls, his spoil;
Redeem those noble arts he wields to foil
God’s purposes, who would all these assoil;—

“The song that cheers a man in listless mood,
Things carved and pictured, wrought in stone and wood
According to My pattern—these are good.”

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