CHRIST THE
COMPANION
WHEN I've thrown my books aside, being
petulant and weary,
And have turned down the gas, and the
firelight has sufficed,
When my brain's too stiff for prayer, and too
indolent for theory,
Will You come and play with me, big Brother
Christ?
Will You slip behind the book-case? Will you
stir the window-curtain,
Peeping from the shadow with Your eyes like
flame?
Set me staring at the alcove where the
flicker's so uncertain,
Then suddenly, at my elbow, leap up, catch me,
call my name?
Or take the great arm-chair, help me set the
chestnuts roasting,
And tell me quiet stories, while the brown
skins pop,
Of wayfarers and merchantmen and tramp of
Roman hosting,
And how Joseph dwelt with Mary in the
carpenter's shop?
When I drift away in dozing, will You softly
light the candles
And touch the piano with Your kind, strong
fingers,
Set stern fugues of Bach and stately themes of
Handel's
Stalking through the corners where the last
disquiet lingers?
And when we say good-night, and You kiss me on
the landing,
Will You promise faithfully and make a solemn
tryst:
You'll be just at hand if wanted, close by
here where we are standing,
And be down in time for breakfast, big Brother
Christ?
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