The Woodcutter

We came behind him by the wall,My brethren drew their brands,And they had strength to strike him down -And I to bind his hands.

Only once, to a lantern gleam,He turned his face from the wall,And it was as the accusing angel's faceOn the day when the stars shall fall.

I grasped the axe with shaking hands,I stared at the grass I trod;For I feared to see the whole bare heavensFilled with the face of God.

I struck: the serpentine slow bloodIn four arms soaked the moss -Before me, by the living Christ,The blood ran in a cross.

Therefore I toil in forests hereAnd pile the wood in stacks,And take no fee from the shivering folkTill I have cleansed the axe.

But for a curse God cleared my sight,And where each tree doth growI see a life with awful eyes,And I must lay it low.