I. H. S.

By J.F.C. Fuller

Published in the Agnostic Journal

London, England

26 May 1906

(page 324)

Hail! from the sky is sung,

"Peace and goodwill";

Lo! high the spear is flung

To wound and kill;

Crash of the blood-red sword,

Innocents torn and gored,

Birth of the bastard Lord,

Author of ill.

Bring forth mine enemies,

Slay them by me;

Look in my blood-shot eyes,

There will'st thou see

Belting the world, a girth

Of tongueless joy, a birth

Of lipless days of mirth,

Of agony.

See, all my mouth is red

With flesh of man;

Harlots shall foul thy bed,

And be thy ban;

Then all the world for me

Brainless shall live to be

Spouse of my lechery:

Leviathan.

Matted my blood-red hair

Wafts round the world,

Crimsons the sun's bright glare;

Meteors hurled,

Rush into scarlet flame,

Write o'er the world my name,

Words of eternal shame,

All hope is furled.

Hark! how the battle's cry

Rises and wanes,

Blood-red the glooming sky

Darkens and gains

O'er all the world; and night

Closes an epoch bright;

Shrieking, the carrion kite

Power attains.

O'er my dark brow a band

Of twisted thorn,

Wounded in foot and hand,

Side bleeding, torn;

I rise before thy sight,

Fiend of the serpent night,

Power of awful might,

Slayer of dawn.

Mocked at with sneer and gibe,

Justice I curse;

Wake, all ye fiendish tribe,

Strive, do your worse:

See, all the sky grows dark,

Night falls, the jackal's bark

Frights far the singing lark;

Earth a huge hearse.

Nailed to the crucifix,

Eli, Eli;

To rise again phœnix,

Sabactani;

To rise from out the mud

Rotten with human blood,

Winged o'er the world to scud,

To brutify.

For all the agony

That I did bear,

Shall rise a friend o'er thee

With fiery hair,

Tearing thee limb from limb,

Shrieking a savage hymn,

Chilling those ages dim,

Desperate with care.

List, all the tombs do ope,

I rise again;

Close fast the door of hope,

Usher in pain.

Rise all ye ghostly dead

Dye the green sward blood-red,

What I have said, is said;

Surge the red main.

Into the sky I soar

To sit by God;

Sightless as blood-red war

On earth is shod:

I am the curse of life,

I am the cause of strife,

I am the butcher's knife,

I am the rod.

Thought thou that I was born

But to do this:

Lighten a world forlorn

To realms of bliss;

Look, fool, thy life is whored

Raped by my crimson sword;

I am the scorpion Lord,

Father of Dis.

I did not come to bring

Peace, but the sword;

Rise, all ye nations, sing

Songs of discord:

Rush o'er the blood-stained sod,

Follow the steps I trod,

I am the Son of God:

I am the Lord.

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