The Unnamed Lake and Other Poems

by Frederick George Scott

 

ISCARIOT

 
MEEK, passionless, precise, with pallid face,
    Judas grew up, his mother’s constant joy,
    Who thanked Jehovah daily that her boy
Of boyhood’s viciousness had not a trace.
Yet, in the heart of that which she thought grace,
5
    A devil lurked more subtle to destroy
    Than any other Satan doth employ
To wreak his vengeance on the human race.

In after years the man’s soul grew so dead,
    That when he met Love’s Self and held Love’s Hand,
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    Nay, kissed Love’s Lips, he still could Love with stand.
Too late, the thirst which drove him to his doom
    Was quenched, when back the abhorrent daylight fled
From that lone gibbet darkening in the gloom.