Poems of Experience Part 3

But all true things in the world seem truer; And the better things of earth seem best, And friends are dearer, as friends are fewer, And love is ALL as our sun dips west.

Then let us clasp hands as we walk together, And let us speak softly in love's sweet tone; For no man knows on the morrow whether We two pa.s.s on--or but one alone.

RESURRECTION

Pausing a moment ere the day was done, While yet the earth was scintillant with light, I backward glanced. From valley, plain, and height, At intervals, where my life-path had run, Rose cross on cross; and nailed upon each one Was my dead self. And yet that gruesome sight Lent sudden splendour to the falling night, Showing the conquests that my soul had won.

Up to the rising stars I looked and cried, 'There is no death! for year on year, re-born I wake to larger life: to joy more great, So many times have I been crucified, So often seen the resurrection morn, I go triumphant, though new Calvaries wait.

THE VOICES OF THE CITY

The voices of the city--merged and swelled Into a mighty dissonance of sound, And from the medley rose these broken strains In changing time and ever-changing keys.

I

Pleasure seekers, silken clad, Led by cherub Day, Ours the duty to be glad, Ours the toil of play.

Sleep has bound the commonplace, Pleasure rules the dawn.

Small hours set the merry pace And we follow on.

We must use the joys of earth, All its cares we'll keep; Night was made for youth and mirth, Day was made for sleep.

Time has cut his beard, and lo!

He is but a boy, Singing, on with him we go, Ah! but life is joy.

II

We are the vendors of beauty, We the purveyors for h.e.l.l; The carnal bliss of a purchased kiss And the pleasures that blight, we sell.

G.o.d pity us; G.o.d pity the world.

We are the sad race-victims Of the misused force in man, Of the great white flame burned black with shame And lost to the primal plan.

G.o.d pity us; G.o.d pity the world.

We are the Purpose of Being Gone wrong in the thought of the world.

The torch for its hand made a danger brand And into the darkness hurled.

G.o.d pity us; G.o.d pity the world.

III

We are the toilers in the realm of night (Long, long the hours of night), We are the human lever, wheel, and bolt, That keeps the civic vehicle from jolt, And jar upon the s.h.i.+ning track of day (The unremembered day).

We sleep away the sunlit hours of life (Unsatisfied, sad life), We wake in shadow and we rise in gloom.

False as a wanton's artificial bloom Is that made light we labour in till dawn (The lonely, laggard dawn).

Like visions half remembered in a dream (A strange and broken dream) Our children's faces, seen but while they sleep, Within our hearts these weary hours we keep.

We are the toilers in the realm of night (Long, long the hours of night).

CHORUS

We are hope and faith and sorrow, We are peace and pain and pa.s.sion, We are ardent lovers kissing, We are happy mothers crooning, We are rosy children dreaming, We are honest labour sleeping, We are wholesome pleasure laughing, We are wakeful riches feasting, We are lifted spirits praying, We the voices of the city.

Out of the medley rose these broken strains, In changing time and ever-changing keys.

IF CHRIST CAME QUESTIONING

If Christ came questioning His world to-day, (If Christ came questioning,) 'What hast thou done to glorify thy G.o.d, Since last My feet this lower earth plane trod?'

How could I answer Him; and in what way One evidence of my allegiance bring; If Christ came questioning.

If Christ came questioning, to me alone, (If Christ came questioning,) I could not point to any church or shrine And say, 'I helped build up this house of Thine; Behold the altar, and the corner stone'; I could not show one proof of such a thing; If Christ came questioning.

If Christ came questioning, on His demand, (If Christ came questioning,) No pagan soul converted to His creed Could I proclaim; or say, that word or deed Of mine, had spread the faith in any land; Or sent it forth, to fly on stronger wing; If Christ came questioning.

If Christ came questioning the soul of me, (If Christ came questioning,) I could but answer, 'Lord, my little part Has been to beat the metal of my heart, Into the shape I thought most fit for Thee; And at Thy feet, to cast the offering; Shouldst Thou come questioning.

'From out the earth-fed furnaces of desire, (Ere Thou cam'st questioning,) This formless and unfinished gift I brought, And on life's anvil flung it down, white hot: A glowing thing, of selfishness and fire, With blow on blow, I made the anvil ring; (Ere Thou cam'st questioning).

'The hammer, Self-Control, beat hard on it; (Ere Thou cam'st questioning,) And with each blow, rose fiery sparks of pain; I bear their scars, on body, soul, and brain.

Long, long I toiled; and yet, dear Lord, unfit, And all unworthy, is the heart I bring, To meet Thy questioning.'

ENGLAND, AWAKE!

A beautiful great lady, past her prime, Behold her dreaming in her easy chair; Gray robed, and veiled; in laces old and rare, Her smiling eyes see but the vanished time, Of splendid prowess, and of deeds sublime.

Self satisfied she sits, all unaware That peace has flown before encroaching care, And through her halls stalks hunger, linked with crime.

England, awake! from dreams of what has been, Look on what IS, and put the past away.

Speak to your sons, until they understand.

England, awake! for dreaming now is sin; In all your ancient wisdom, rise to-day, And save the glory of your menaced land.

BE NOT ATTACHED