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BAAL
Near with the nearness of man, heart to heart with his brother,
Sweet with the infinite music of infinite loving,
So that the mountains should melt, and the clouds, at his coming,
Mournful as one that doth call finding none to regard hirn: —
Behold, I stand at the door and knock, but ye will not open;
Ye will not come unto me, and taste of life;
All day I wait with mine outstretched arms, and ye will not enter;
I fain would fold you beneath my whigs, but ye will not come.
Baal, we cry to thee from morning till even,—
In the noon of the world now we cry to thee, Baal, all mighty;
Not with the slaughter of brutes and the smiting of body,
