The Adder in the Grass

What name hath falsehood when it weareth love?
It answereth, Treach’ry, with a smiling face;
It stealeth softly where men’s faith doth bloom,
And buildeth there its secret throne of guile.

As doth the adder couch within the grass,
So lurketh falsehood underneath fair shows;
The careless foot discerneth not its coil
Until the venom answer for the fang.

It needeth not the thunder nor the sword;
A whisper serveth where the heart doth trust.
It killeth not by violence alone,
But by corruption working from within.

The poison seeketh out no mortal vein,
But rather creepeth through the inward man,
Where truth and honour kept their gentle watch,
Till doubt doth turn the warders from the gate.

O, crueller than any foeman’s steel
Is that same wound a faithful friend doth give!
For open hate proclaimeth what it is,
But love betray’d doth counterfeit the light.

Thus fell our first estate in Eden’s shade,
When that old serpent, smooth of tongue and brow,
Did gild rebellion with the name of truth,
And made destruction wear a heavenly smile.

His tongue was oil; his purpose rank as death.
He flatter’d Eve, yet murder fill’d his breath.
So still the serpent changeth but his skin;
His ancient malice never altereth.

There lives an old remembrance wise with years:
Take not the frozen adder to thy breast.
Though pity lend the warmth that life restores,
It cannot melt the nature of the beast.

When once the blood awaketh in his veins,
He knoweth not the hand that sheltered him;
He lifteth high his unthankful head,
And pays thy mercy with a mortal wound.

So learn that trust is treasure dearly bought,
Not coin to cast before each smiling face.
For many wear the livery of saints
Whose hearts are sworn unto the Prince of Lies.

Yet if thou bear’st the venom of deceit,
Yield not thy noble spirit to despair.
The poison hath no everlasting crown,
Unless thy soul enthrone it by consent.

Let serpents creep, for creeping is their kind;
The stars do lose no brightness for the mire.
Truth, though it limp with slow and weary pace,
Shall overtake the fleetest-footed lie.

And He who trieth every heart by fire
Shall strip each mask from off the traitor’s brow.
Then shall the serpent’s forked tongue be still,
His subtle coils unbound before the throne.

So let the adder strike as adders must;
Their venom endeth where God’s justice reigns.
The faithful heart, though grievously betray’d,
Shall bloom again where treach’ry cannot come.