I can love him for his yearning hest for good

I also do embrace him for his learning’s careful flood

Of living feeling

He was a Dean of Paul’s; a keeper of

That faith which mighty Donne attempted

At the same raised level

And in his writings entered no admission offering

A jostling pride

Nor sentence asking due regard to haughty circumstance

A man declared to bare his breast, as others poising

Accused with points of critical dismissal

Recitals more beleaguered

Obeying less their hearts, demanding parting necks

As recompense

Himself would rather err be stipulated heretic,

Than gain a grain unhallowed of that narrow ground

Unsound. And in his heart an avalanche, love’s spirit

Of Parousia

And rather would he with The Christ contend

Against that voice which nicely cries,

“Ah, yes, who is my neighbour?”

So he might pilot reason’s harsher caste to a milder mooring

Replying love in answer; its imparting turns them back

Their straitened onus

He pushed-out far exposed, exacting of himself

For Christ’s sake

Amongst detractors steadfastly he bore their contumely

And raw derision

So for the gospel’s sake another conscience crucified;

And once again for love.

He meant that heaven has sent Salvation, and sent not on ration

To just a few

His calls pursue with generous and resilient tenderness,

(The mildest of rebuke).

For which his Master gave him, gave in basketfuls

Vision of latitude,

Endued more of most-lustrous light for him to know and show

In truer strain

Which weight allowed him, woke him to, a broader sympathy,

Illumined by insight, by kind regard augmented

His interpretations;

Untaught to one recalcitrant, of lesser wisdom

Unbinding then, in him, his feelings; his affections

Have moved me in my life