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If you put the question to, say, one Ben Haramed, He would, as befits a wily old desert jackal, Find such notions of faith and fidelity quite amusing-- (*Following stars in search of something ephermal, With no fixed exchange rate? Will these specks of light find you shelter Among throngs of shepherds and sundry fools? Will your mewling, puking infant provide you succor in that cold city Where no one makes time for you, save the pickpockets or strumpets, Each of whom would pawn your drum For a dram or string of brightly-colored beads?*) And, indeed, if you happened upon a certain wise and well-off trio Ensconced comfortably in their lodgings several streets distant From the temporary residence of the object of their pilgrimage (*It is only fit that we pay obeisance, But to actually stay in such a place, well...*) They would certainly forswear any notion Of the primacy of the gold piece and the blade But if you caught them in a more comfortable, unguarded moment You may able to infer quite correctly that, While they would express themselves more elegantly Than some rude wilderness bandit, You could no more expect them To exchange their coin of the realm for philosophy Than you would expect the fold and kine To keep perfect four-four time. And yet we believe, in spite of the first-hand knowledge That the descendants of Balthasar and Melchior can elbow their way Past whomever they choose, and be greeted, all smiles, By the bank manager, the lawmaker, the chairman of the board That our works and our constancy Shall be recompensed at a sound rate of return (How could it be otherwise, for didn’t Our Story Teller herself, Through stiffness of upper lip and fealty To all things bright and beautiful, Weather the Blitz as beautiful, as inspirational, As a cross-Channel Joan of Arc?) If only we are as steadfast as the chant of the Dies Irae, As unwavering as the straightforward beat of a single drum Which follows the procession down the main thoroughfare As we make our final homecoming.
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Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 10:59 AM UTC
wk-kortas
It Is Rumored That The Ox And Lamb Kept Time
If you put the question to, say, one Ben Haramed, He would, as befits a wily old desert jackal, Find such notions of faith and fidelity quite amusing-- (*Following stars in search of something ephermal, With no fixed exchange rate? Will these specks of light find you shelter Among throngs of shepherds and sundry fools? Will your mewling, puking infant provide you succor in that cold city Where no one makes time for you, save the pickpockets or strumpets, Each of whom would pawn your drum For a dram or string of brightly-colored beads?*) And, indeed, if you happened upon a certain wise and well-off trio Ensconced comfortably in their lodgings several streets distant From the temporary residence of the object of their pilgrimage (*It is only fit that we pay obeisance, But to actually stay in such a place, well...*) They would certainly forswear any notion Of the primacy of the gold piece and the blade But if you caught them in a more comfortable, unguarded moment You may able to infer quite correctly that, While they would express themselves more elegantly Than some rude wilderness bandit, You could no more expect them To exchange their coin of the realm for philosophy Than you would expect the fold and kine To keep perfect four-four time. And yet we believe, in spite of the first-hand knowledge That the descendants of Balthasar and Melchior can elbow their way Past whomever they choose, and be greeted, all smiles, By the bank manager, the lawmaker, the chairman of the board That our works and our constancy Shall be recompensed at a sound rate of return (How could it be otherwise, for didn’t Our Story Teller herself, Through stiffness of upper lip and fealty To all things bright and beautiful, Weather the Blitz as beautiful, as inspirational, As a cross-Channel Joan of Arc?) If only we are as steadfast as the chant of the Dies Irae, As unwavering as the straightforward beat of a single drum Which follows the procession down the main thoroughfare As we make our final homecoming.
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