Our flesh that was a battleground
Shows now the morning-break;
The ancient deities are drowned
For they eternal sake.
Now that the past is left behind,
Fling wide the garment’s hem
To Keep us one with Thee in mind,
Thou Christ of Bethlehem.
The thorny wreath may ridge our brow,
The spear may mar our side,
And on white wood from a scented bough
We may be crucified;
Yet no assaults the old gods make
Upon our agony
Shall swerve our footsteps from the wake
Of Thine toward Calvary.
And if we hunger now and thirst,
Grant our withholders may,
When heaven’s constellations burst
Upon Thy crowning day,
Be fed by us, and given to see
Thy mercy in our eyes,
When Bethlehem and Calvary
Are merged in Paradise.
–Countee Cullen
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