The Wonder of innocence (The disciple)

(The Saviour of the World, Vol IV Book IV Poem LXIII)

Innocence has no problem

For him who thinks his soul a castle, fed
From without at his will; a keep whence he may bring
Evil or good, as disciplined hath been
His will by life’s affairs; and where he is
Alone with himself, impregnable: as he,
Nor helped, not let, doth make or mar himself,
So is he innocent, unmade, unmarr’d,
Ere habit of false thinking or ill deed
Has fitted to his shape.

But the poor man,

The hunted soul who has no innermost
Where sin is not at home, who strives t’ escape,
Who hates and yet inclines, and, desperate,
Cleaveth to Grace to save him from the Thing—
Is it himself?—that daunts him; who finds not where
T’ abide; but when, of tears and cryings brought
Into the place of peace where is the King,
He, thinking to remain, doth let him out
To dwell at ease, sudden, he findeth him
In outer darkness, under other rule;—
Then painful, winneth yet again to where
He was before, but not to abide; for aye
Filling laborious a vessel bottomless!—
This poor man holds the Innocence that shines
In the face of a little child a mystery,
The deepest and most precious God doth keep.