Contra Christum

No Mediator, none! If thou art God,
Thy torments were self-wrought;
If thou wast Man, despised and undertrod,
Thy sorrows teach me nought.

I look within and find my Godhead there,
Not yonder on the Cross!
Sharer of my soul's doubt, my heart's despair,
My daily gain and loss,

Howshouldst thou mediate for me and mine
Who art thyself not free?
If thou thyself wast deathless and Divine,
What part hast thou with me?

If thou art but the Son, and like the rest
Fell slain before God's Throne,
Then will I love thee (lo! my hand is prest,
Dear Comrade, in thine own!)

But if thou art the Father in disguise,
I snatch my hand away —,
Back to thy realm, back to thy silent skies, —
I'll wait thy Judgment Day!

I search within, I find my one God still.
What answereth He? ' Had /
Been God all- Powerful, fashioning to my will
All things that creep or fly,

'/ had not built their glory or their gain
On endless suffering,
I had not blent my Godhead with the pain
Of any living thing. '

Can the all-Powerful be all-Pitiful?
The all-Cruel be all-Kind?
If this be so then thou, my God, art null,
Then thou, my Soul, art blind!

No Mediator, then! Soul of my Soul,
God of my Thought, rest free:
Sure of myself while the long ages roll,
I turn in peace to Thee.