The Mystery

G. K. Chesterton

If sunset clouds could grow on trees It would but match the may in flower; And skies be underneath the seas No topsyturvier than a shower.

If mountains rose on wings to wander They were no wilder than a cloud; Yet all my praise is mean as slander, Mean as these mean words spoken aloud.

And never more than now I know That man's first heaven is far behind; Unless the blazing seraph's blow Has left him in the garden blind.

Witness, O Sun that blinds our eyes, Unthinkable and unthankable King, That though all other wonder dies I wonder at not wondering.

To St. Michael in Time of Peace

Michael, Michael: Michael of the Morning, Michael of the Army of the Lord, Stiffen thou the hand upon the still sword, Michael, Folded and shut upon the sheathed sword, Michael, Under the fullness of the white robes falling, Gird us with the secret of the sword.

When the world cracked because of a sneer in heaven, Leaving out for all time a scar upon the sky, Thou didst rise up against the Horror in the highest, Dragging down the highest that looked down on the Most High: Rending from the seventh heaven the hell of exaltation Down the seven heavens till the dark seas burn: Thou that in thunder threwest down the Dragon Knowest in what silence the Serpent can return.

Down through the universe the vast night falling (Michael, Michael: Michael of the Morning!) Far down the universe the deep calms calling (Michael, Michael: Michael of the Sword!) Bid us not forget in the baths of all forgetfulness, In the sigh long drawn from the frenzy and the fretfulness In the huge holy sempiternal silence In the beginning was the Word.

When from the deeps of dying God astounded Angels and devils who do all but die Seeing Him fallen where thou couldst not follow, Seeing Him mounted where thou couldst not fly, Hand on the hilt, thou hast halted all thy legions Waiting the Tetelestai and the acclaim, Swords that salute Him dead and everlasting God beyond God and greater than His Name.

Round us and over us the cold thoughts creeping (Michael, Michael: Michael of the battle-cry!) Round us and under us the thronged world sleeping (Michael, Michael: Michael of the Charge!) Guard us the Word; the trysting and the trusting Edge upon the honour and the blade unrusting Fine as the hair and tauter than the harpstring Ready as when it rang upon the targe.

He that giveth peace unto us; not as the world giveth: He that giveth law unto us; not as the scribes: Shall he be softened for the softening of the cities Patient in usury; delicate in bribes? They that come to quiet us, saying the sword is broken, Break man with famine, fetter them with gold, Sell them as sheep; and He shall know the selling For He was more than murdered. He was sold.

Michael, Michael: Michael of the Mustering, Michael of the marching on the mountains of the Lord, Marshal the world and purge of rot and riot Rule through the world till all the world be quiet: Only establish when the world is broken What is unbroken is the word.