Part V

I know not whether Laws be right,Or whether Laws be wrong;All that we know who lie in gaolIs that the wall is strong;And that each day is like a year,A year whose days are long.

But this I know, that every LawThat men have made for Man,Since first Man took His brother's life,And the sad world began,But straws the wheat and saves the chaffWith a most evil fan.

This too I know- and wise it wereIf each could know the same-That every prison that men buildIs built with bricks of shame,And bound with bars lest Christ should seeHow men their brothers maim.

With bars they blur the gracious moon,And blind the goodly sun:And they do well to hide their Hell,For in it things are doneThat Son of God nor son of ManEver should look upon!

The vilest deeds like poison weedsBloom well in prison-air:It is only what is good in ManThat wastes and withers there:Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate,And the warder is Despair.

For they starve the little frightened childTill it weeps both night and day:And they scourge the weak, and flog the fool,And gibe the old and gray,And some grow mad, and all grow bad,And none a word may say.

Each narrow cell in which we dwellIs a foul and dark latrine,And the fetid breath of living DeathChokes up each grated screen,And all, but Lust, is turned to dustIn Humanity's machine.

The brackish water that we drinkCreeps with a loathsome slime,And the bitter bread they weigh in scalesIs full of chalk and lime,And Sleep will not lie down, but walksWild-eyed, and cries to Time.

But though lean Hunger and green ThirstLike asp with adder fight,We have little care of prison fare,For what chills and kills outrightIs that every stone one lifts by dayBecomes one's heart by night.

With midnight always in one's heart,And twilight in one's cell,We turn the crank, or tear the rope,Each in his separate Hell,And the silence is more awful farThan the sound of a brazen bell.

And never a human voice comes nearTo speak a gentle word:And the eye that watches through the doorIs pitiless and hard:And by all forgot, we rot and rot,With soul and body marred.

And thus we rust Life's iron chainDegraded and alone:And some men curse, and some men weep,And some men make no moan:But God's eternal Laws are kindAnd break the heart of stone.

And every human heart that breaks,In prison-cell or yard,Is as that broken box that gaveIts treasure to the Lord,And filled the unclean leper's houseWith the scent of costliest nard.

Ah! happy they whose hearts can breakAnd peace of pardon win!How else may man make straight his planAnd cleanse his soul from Sin?How else but through a broken heartMay Lord Christ enter in?

And he of the swollen purple throat,And the stark and staring eyes,Waits for the holy hands that tookThe Thief to Paradise;And a broken and a contrite heartThe Lord will not despise.

The man in red who reads the LawGave him three weeks of life,Three little weeks in which to healHis soul of his soul's strife,And cleanse from every blot of bloodThe hand that held the knife.

And with tears of blood he cleansed the hand,The hand that held the steel:For only blood can wipe out blood,And only tears can heal:And the crimson stain that was of CainBecame Christ's snow-white seal.