The Unbeliever

IF I am blind and cannot see
The gaunt, stark-limbed, accursèd tree
Whereon, men say, You died for me —
Miserere, Domine.

If I am deaf and cannot hear
Your skyey promise falling clear,
Nor, in my need, Your whisper near —
Miserere, Domine.

If I am lame and cannot tread
The starlit path the Magi led,
To bow before Your manger-bed —
Miserere, Domine.

If in my unconsenting mind
Nor gem nor pebble I can find
To fit Your temple, man-designed —
Miserere, Domine.

If in my pierced and drowning heart,
Transfixed by the Arch-Doubter’s dart,
I cannot feel You salve the smart —
Miserere, Domine.

And if at last unshriven I wait
At the bright barrier of Your gate,
And see You shrined in mystic state —
Miserere, Domine.