High stretched upon the swinging yard, 
I gather in the sheet; 
But it is hard 
And stiff, and one cries haste. 
Then He that is most dear in my regard 
Of all the crew gives aidance meet; 
But from His hands, and from His feet, 
A glory spreads wherewith the night is starred: 
Moreover of a cup most bitter-sweet 
With fragrance as of nard, 
And myrrh, and cassia spiced, 
He proffers me to taste. 
Then I to Him:?`Art Thou the Christ?? 
He saith?`Thou say?st.? 
 
Like to an ox 
That staggers ?neath the mortal blow, 
She grinds upon the rocks:? 
Then straight and low 
Leaps forth the levelled line, and in our quarter locks 
The cradle?s rigged; with swerving of the blast 
We go, 
Our Captain last? 
Demands 
`Who fired that shot?? Each silent stands? 
Ah, sweet perplexity! 
This too was He. 
 
I have an arbour wherein came a toad 
Most hideous to see? 
Immediate, seizing staff or goad, 
I smote it cruelly. 
Then all the place with subtle radiance glowed? 
I looked, and it was He!