An Anthology of Czechoslovak Literature/The Martyr
The Martyr
And foam is on your lips. Into my face.
Ye spit, and with your staves ye strike my head.—
O Christian people, Christ’s confessors ye.
And the priests fan your fury yet the more,
And from his chair the bishop yonder nods
Assent unto your frenzy. O ye servants,
By whom the Lord’s name is betrayed. I see,
As Stephen did, first witness to the blood,
Of old, the heavens opened in their glory.
And Christ I see at the right hand of the Father,
And I see too how He enjoins His angels
To keep their flaming swords within their sheaths
And to cherish compassion with your blindness,—
But in His garb He hides His countenance
That angels and saints may not behold how pain
Trickles forth from His eyes. Strike ye, strike ye.
Spare not your spittle. For your every blow
He, Christ, will soothingly caress my face
And change your spittle into glory’s sheen
And give kind words in place of your affronts,—
Then spit and rail upon me, curse and strike me;
I shall not hold my peace, the while I have
Spirit in body, tongue in mouth. Shed ye
My blood, and this my blood shall cry to you
E’en what my lips did clamour in your ears:
Ye are accursed, ye are the sons of hell;
Christ, Who entered the world with love, did ye
Imprison in the dungeons of your souls,
And daily do ye scourge Him with your pride,
And with your greed ye fashion gyves for Him,
And with your lust ye spit into His eyes;
Your gluttony doth make a mock of Him
And with the hardness of your hearts ye stone
My Saviour’s radiant brow. Day after day
Your lack of loving-kindness chaffers for Him,
And every prompting which doth stir your souls
Pierces into His limbs with barbed nails,—
Ye are accursed, offspring of Belial.
And ye, the leaders of this savage herd,
Ye evil shepherds, ye who are its priests,
Ye fatted gluttons, in whose fleshy faces
Reflected gleams from hell already show,—
—Threaten and curse me, hound me, buffet me,—
I yet can laugh. I see domains of hell
And ravenous flames which are agog for you.
And ranks of demons sitting there exalt
This work of yours achieved for their domains.
And hell shall be all paved with skulls of priests,
Their eyes shall be uprooted from their sockets,
That they may shine like lanterns there, upon
The sufferings of the damned. Your unclean hands
Shall be hacked off, and the devil stoking there
Shall ‘neath red cauldrons rake the flames with them,—
Then strike ye . . . strike. . . . A stone . . . a second stone. . . .
O Jesus Christ, thanks to Thee for this favour. . . .
That Thou dost let me die . . . as Thou didst Stephen . . .
Amid a shower of stones . . . that Thou wilt show me. . .
Thy glory . . . where shall enter in . . . my soul. . . .
And hell . . . which shall devour my murderers . . .
And murderers of Thee . . . Lord Jesus . . . Christ. . . .
The Poison from Judaea (1906)
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
| Original: |
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1930. The longest-living author of this work died in 1942, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 82 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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| Translation: |
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1930. The longest-living author of this work died in 1970, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 54 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse |
