Daughter in law
Daughter in love,
I, E. Nesbit,
THE DECEMBER ROSE
THE GIFT OF LIFE
THE STOLEN GOD
THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN
THE GARDEN REFUSED
THESE LITTLE ONES
THE MAGIC RING
THE WHIRLIGIG OF TIME
AS IT IS
IN THE PEOPLE'S PARK
THE LAST DEFEAT
THE POINT OF VIEW: I
THE POINT OF VIEW: II
MARY OF MAGDALA
AGE TO YOUTH
FROM THE PORTUGUESE. I.
FROM THE PORTUGUESE. II.
THE OLD MAGIC
THE DEATH OF AGNES
p. viiAT THE
THE DAY OF JUDGMENT
PRAYER IN TIME OF WAR
TO HER: IN TIME OF WAR
THE FIELDS OF FLANDERS
SPRING IN WAR-TIME
THE MOTHER'S PRAYER
"INASMUCH AS YE DID IT NOT"
p. 9THE RETURN
The grass was gray with the moonlit
The stones were white as I came through;
I came down the path by the
Through the blocks of shade that the moonlight hews.
when I came to the high lych-gate
I waited awhile where the corpses wait;
Then I came down the road where the moonlight lay
Like the fallen ghost of
the light of day.
The bats shrieked high in their zigzag flight,
spread wings were quiet and white,
The wind and the poplar gave sigh for
And all about were the rustling shy
Little live creatures that love
Little wild creatures timid and free.
I passed, and they were
not afraid of me.
It was over the meadow and down the lane
The way to come to
my house again:
Through the wood where the lovers talk,
And the ghosts,
they say, get leave to walk.
I wore the clothes that we all must wear,
no one saw me walking there,
No one saw my pale feet pass
By my garden
path to my garden grass.
10My garden was hung with the veil of spring-
Plum-tree and pear-tree
It lay in the moon's cold sheet of light
In garlands and
silence, wondrous and white
As a dead bride decked for her burying.
Then I saw the face of my house
Held close in the arms of
the blossomed boughs:
I leaned my face to the window bright
To feel if the
heart of my house beat right.
The firelight hung it with fitful gold;
was warm as the house of the dead is cold.
I saw the settles, the candles
The black-faced presses against the wall,
Polished beechwood and
The gleam of china, the glitter of glass,
All the little
things that were home to me-
Everything as it used to be.
Then I said, "The fire of life still burns,
And I have
returned whence none returns:
I will warm my hands where the fire is lit,
I will warm my heart in the heart of it!"
So I called aloud to the one
"Open, open, and let me in!
Let me in to the fire and the
It is very cold out here in the night!"
There was never a stir or
an answering breath-
Only a silence as deep as death.
Then I beat on the window, and called, and cried.
heard me, and none replied.
The golden silence lay warm and deep,
wept as the dead, forgotten, weep;
And there was no one to hear or see-
comfort me, to have pity on me.
deep in the silence something stirred-
Something that had not seen or
And two drew near to the window-pane,
Kissed in the moonlight and
And looked, through my face, to the moon-shroud, spread
the garlanded garden bed;
And-"How ghostly the moonlight is!" she said.
Back through the garden, the wood, the lane,
I came to mine
own place again.
I wore the garments we all must wear,
And no one saw me
No one heard my thin feet pass
Through the white of the
stones and the gray of the grass,
Along the path where the moonlight hews
Slabs of shadow for thirteen yews.
In the hollow where drifted dreams lie deep
It is good to
sleep: it was good to sleep:
But my bed has grown cold with the drip of the
And I cannot sleep as I used to do.
p. 12FOR DOLLY
WHO DOES NOT LEARN HER LESSONS
You see the fairies dancing in the
Laughing, leaping, sparkling with the spray;
see the gnomes, at work beneath the mountain,
Make gold and
silver and diamonds every day;
You see the angels, sliding down the
Bring white dreams like sheaves of lilies fair;
You see the imps, scarce seen against the moonbeams,
the bonfire's blue and liquid air.
All the enchantment, all the magic there is
Hid in trees and blossoms, to you is plain and true.
Dewdrops in lupin leaves
are jewels for the fairies;
Every flower that blows is a miracle
Air, earth, water, fire, spread their splendid wares for you.
Millions of magics beseech your little looks;
Every soul your
winged soul meets, loves you and cares for you.
Ah! why must we
clip those wings and dim those eyes with books?
Soon, soon enough the magic lights grow dimmer,
Marsh mists arise to cloud the radiant sky,
Dust of hard
highways will veil the starry glimmer,
Tired hands will lay the
folded magic by.
Storm winds will blow through those enchanted closes,
Fairies be crushed where weed and briar grow strong . . .
her her crown of magic stars and roses,
Leave her her
kingdom-she will not keep it long!
What do the roses do, mother,
Now that the summer's done?
They lie in the bed that is hung
And dream about the sun.
What do the lilies do, mother,
there's no more June?
Each one lies down in her white nightgown
And dreams about the moon.
What can I dream of, mother,
With the moon and
the sun away?
Of a rose unborn, of an untried thorn,
lily that lives a day!
p. 14THE DAISIES
In the great green park with the
The wooden palings so hard to climb,
There are fern and
foxglove, primrose and violet,
And green things growing all the time;
out in the open the daisies grow,
Pretty and proud in their proper
Millions of white-frilled daisy faces,
Millions and millions-not
one or two.
And they call to the bluebells down in the wood:
out-are you in? We have been so good
All the school-time winter
But now it's playtime,
The gay time, the May time;
We are out
and at play. Where are you?"
In the gritty garden inside the railings,
railings all painted green,
There are neat little beds of geraniums and
With never a happy weed between.
There's a neat little grass plot,
bald in places,
And very dusty to touch;
A respectable man comes once a
To keep the garden weeded and swept,
To keep it as we don't want it
He cuts the grass with his mowing-machine,
And we think he cuts it
But even on the lawn, all dry and gritty,
The daisies play
They are so brave as well as so pretty,
You cannot keep them
p. 15I love them, I
want to let them grow,
But that respectable man says no.
He cuts off their
heads with his mowing-machine
Like the French Revolution guillotine.
sweeps up the poor little pretty faces,
The dear little white-frilled daisy
Says things must be kept in their proper places
He has no frill
round his ugly face-
I wish I could find his proper place!
p. 16THE TOUCHSTONE
There was a garden, very strange
With all the roses summer never brings.
The snowy blossom of immortal Springs
Lighted its boughs, and I, even I, was
There were new heavens, and the earth was new,
And still I told my heart the dream was true.
But when the sun stood still, and Time went out
Like a blown candle-when she came to me
bride-veil of the blossomed tree,
Chill through the garden blew the winds of
And when, with starry eyes, and lips too near,
She leaned to me, my heart knew what to fear.
"It is no dream," she said. "What dream had stayed
So long? It is the blessed isle that lies
Between the tides of twin eternities.
It is our island; do not be
Then, then at last my heart was well deceived;
I hid my eyes; I trembled and believed.
Her real presence sanctified my faith,
very voice my restless fears beguiled,
And it was Life that
clasped me when she smiled,
But when she said "I love you!" it was Death.
That, that at least could neither be nor seem-
then, indeed, I knew it was a dream!
p. 17THE DECEMBER
Here's a rose that blows for
Fair as ever a rose in June was,
Now the garden's
Where the burning summer noon was.
In your garden's summer glory
One poor corner,
shelved and shady,
Told no rosy, radiant story,
Grew no rose
to grace its lady.
What shuts sun out shuts out snow too;
his nook your secret lover
Shows what slighted roses grow to
When the rose you chose is over.
p. 18THE FIRE
I was picking raspberries, my head
was in the canes,
And he came behind and kissed me, and I smacked him for his
Says he, "You take it easy! That ain't the way to do!
you hot as fire, my girl, and you know you know it too.
So won't you name the
But I said, "That I will not."
And I pushed him away,
the raspberries all on a summer day.
And I says, "You ask in winter, if your
love's so hot,
For it's summer now, and sunny, and my hands is full," says
"With the fair by and by,
And the village dance and all;
turkey poults is small,
And so's the ducks and chicks,
And the hay not yet
And the flower-show'll be presently and hop-picking's to come,
And the fruiting and the harvest home,
And my new white gown to make, and the
jam all to be done.
Can't you leave a girl alone?
Your love's too hot for
Can't you leave a girl be
Till the evenings do draw in,
leaves be getting thin,
19Till the fires be lighted early, and the curtains drawed for tea?
That's the time to do your courting, if you come a-courting me!"
. . . . .
And he took it as I said it, an' not as it was meant.
. . . . .
The hay was stacked, the fruit was picked, the hops were dry
And everything was garnered, and the year turned upside down,
And the winter it come on, and the fires were early lit,
And he'd never come
anigh again, and all my life was sick.
And I was cold alone, with nought to
do but sit
With my hands in my black lap, and hear the clock tick.
father, he lay dead
With the candles at his head,
And his coffin was that
black I could see it through the wall;
And I'd sent them all away,
they'd offered for to stay.
I wanted to be cold alone, and learn to bear it
Then I heard him. I'd a-known it for his footstep just as
If he'd brought his regiment with him up the rutty frozen lane.
I hadn't drawed the curtains, and I see him through the pane;
And I jumped up
in my blacks and I threw the door back wide.
Says I, "You come inside;
it's cold outside for you,
20And it's cold here too;
And I haven't no more pride-
cold for that," I cried.
. . . . .
Then I saw in his face
The fear of death, and desire.
And oh, I took and kissed him again and again,
And I clipped him close and
In the winter, in the dusk, in the quiet house-place,
With the coffin
lying black and full the other side the wall;
And "You warm my heart,"
I told him, "if there's any fire in men!"
And he got his two arms round me,
and I felt the fire then.
And I warmed my heart at the fire.
Now the Spring is waking,
Very shy as yet,
Busy mending, making
Frowsy Winter's over:
See the budding lane!
meet your lover:
Spring is here again!
Every day is longer
Than the day before;
Lambs are whiter, stronger,
Birds sing more and more;
are less than shady,
Griefs are more than vain-
Go and kiss
Spring is here again!
p. 22A PARTING
This is where we end it, you and I.
Life's to live, you know, and death's to die;
For the love in life that loves while life endures,
earth-path that the Heaven-flight ensures
I was yours.
For the moment that a garland takes to twine,
For the human hour that
sorcery shews divine
You and I no more are love and lover;
Nought's to seek now, gain,
p. 23THE GIFT OF LIFE
Life is a night all dark and
Yet still stars shine:
This moment is a star, my
Your star and mine.
Life is a desert dry and drear,
This hour is an oasis, dear;
Here let us rest.
Life is a sea of windy spray,
Cold, fierce and
An isle enchanted is to-day
For you and me.
Forget night, sea, and desert: take
And, of life's brief relenting, make
If you loved me I could trust you
to your fancy's furthest bound
While the sun shone and the wind blew, and the
world went round,
To the utmost of the meshes of the devil's strongest net .
If you loved me, if you loved me-but you do not love me yet!
I love you-and I cannot trust you further than the door!
But winds and worlds and seasons change, and you will love me more
more-until I trust you, dear, as women do trust men-
I shall trust you, I
shall trust you, but I shall not love you then!
p. 25THE STOLEN GOD
LAZARUS TO DIVES
We do not clamour for
We do not whine for fear;
We have cried in the
Where was no man to hear.
We cried to man and
he heard not;
Yet we thought God heard us pray;
But our God,
who loved and was sorry-
Our God is taken away.
Ours were the stream and the pasture,
and fen were ours;
Ours were the wild wood-creatures,
wild sweet berries and flowers.
You have taken our heirlooms from us,
And hardly you let us save
Enough of our woods for a cradle,
Enough of our earth for a grave.
You took the wood and the cornland,
still we tilled and felled;
You took the mine and quarry,
all you took you held.
The limbs of our weanling children
crushed in your mills of power;
And you made our bearing women toil
To the very bearing hour.
have taken our clean quick longings,
Our joy in lover and
Our hope of the sunset quiet
At the evening end of
You have taken the land that bore us,
Its soil and
stone and sod;
You have taken our faith in each other-
now you have taken our God.
When our God came down from Heaven
among men, a Man,
Eating and drinking and working
And the common people received Him
While the rich
men turned away.
But what have we to do with a God
the rich men pray?
He hangs, a dead God, on your altars,
lived a Man among men,
You have taken away our Lord
cannot find Him again.
You have not left us a handful
the earth He trod . . .
You have made Him a rich man's idol
Who came as a poor man's God.
He promised the poor His heaven,
He loved and
lived with the poor;
He said that the rich man's shadow
Should never darken His door:
But bishops and priests lie softly,
Drink full and are fully fed
In the Name of the Lord, who had
Where to lay His head.
p. 27This is
the God you have stolen,
As you steal all else-in His name.
You have taken the ease and the honour,
Left us the toil and the
You have chosen the seat of Dives,
We lie where
But, by God, we will not yield you our God,
shall not take Him away.
All else we had you have taken;
All else, but
not this, not this.
The God of Heaven is ours, is ours,
the poor are His, are His.
Is He ours? Is He yours? Give
For both He cannot be.
And if He is ours-O you rich
Then whose, in God's name, are ye?
Hold your hands to the blaze;
Winter is here
With the short cold days,
keen and drear.
Was there ever a day
With hawthorn along the way
you wandered in mild mid-May
With your dear?
That was when you were young
And the world was
Now all the songs are sung,
The tales all told.
shiver now by the fire
Where the last red sparks expire;
Dead are delight
You are old.
I gathered shells upon the
Each shell a little perfect thing,
So frail, yet potent
The mountain-waves' wild buffeting.
storms no ship could dare to brave
The little shells float lightly, save
All that they might have lost of fine
Shape and soft colour crystalline.
Yet I amid the world's wild surge
Doubt if my
soul can face the strife,
The waves of circumstance that urge
That slight ship on the rocks of life.
O soul, be brave, for He who saves
The frail shell in the giant waves,
Will bring thy puny bark to land
in the hollow of His hand.
O thrush, is it true?
Your song tells
Of a world born anew,
Of fields gold with
buttercups, woodlands all blue
With hyacinth bells;
In the moss of the lane,
Of a Princess
And dear magic to do.
Will the sun wake the princess? O
thrush, is it true?
Will Spring come again?
Will Spring come again?
Now at last
soft shine and rain
Will the violet be sweet where the dead leaves have
Will Winter be past?
In the brown of the copse
Will white wind-flowers star through
Where the last oak-leaf
Will the daisies come too,
And the may and the
lilac? Will Spring come again?
O thrush, is it true?
p. 31THE PRODIGAL'S
I reach my hand to thee!
Stoop; take my hand in thine;
Lead me where I would be,
I do not even know
The way I want to go,
The way that leads to rest:
But, Thou who knowest me,
where I cannot see,
Thou knowest best.
Toys, worthless, yet desired,
Drew me afar to
Father, I am so tired;
I am come home.
The love I
held so cheap
I see, so dear, so deep,
Life is so cold and wild,
I am thy little child-
I will be good.
p. 32THE SKYLARK
". . . a dripping shower of notes from the softening blue. It is the
skylark come."-Robert à Field, in the New
"It is the skylark come." For
Robert-à-Cockney is thy name:
Robert-à-Field would surely know
That skylarks, bless them, never go!
. . . . .
Love of my life, bear witness here
How we have heard them
all the year;
How to the skylark's song are set
The days we never can
At Rustington, do you remember?
We heard the skylarks in
In January above the snow
They sang to us by Hurstmonceux
Once in the keenest airs of March
We heard them near the Marble Arch;
Their April song thrilled Tonbridge air;
May found them singing
And oh, in Sheppey, how their tune
Rhymed with the bean-flower
scent in June.
One unforgotten day at Rye
They sang a love-song in
In August, hard by Lewes town,
They sang of joy 'twixt sky and
And in September's golden spell
We heard them singing on Scaw
October's leaves were brown and sere,
But skylarks sang by Teston
And in November, at Mount's Bay,
They sang upon our wedding day!
. . . . .
Mr.-à-Field, go forth, go forth,
Go east and west and south
You'll always find the furze in flower,
Find every hour the
And, by my faith in love and rhyme,
The skylark singing all
p. 33SATURDAY SONG
They talk about gardens of
And moonlight over the sea,
And mountains and snow
And sunsetty glow,
But I know what is best for me.
prettiest sight I know,
Worth all your roses and snow,
blaze of light on a Saturday night,
When the barrows are set in
I've heard of bazaars in India
All glitter and
spices and smells,
But they don't compare
With the naphtha flare
And the herrings the coster sells;
And the oranges piled like
The cucumbers lean and cold,
And the red and white
And the strawberries fresh and ripe,
peas and beans,
And the sprouts and greens,
And the 'taters
and trotters and tripe.
And the shops where they sell the chairs,
mangles and tables and bedding,
And the lovers go by in pairs,
And look-and think of the wedding.
And your girl has her arm in
And you whisper and make her blush.
Oh! the snap in
her eyes-and her smiles and her sighs
As she fancies the purple
p. 34And you
haven't a penny to spend,
But you dream that you've pounds and
And arm in arm with your only friend
You make your
And you see the cradle bright
ribbon-lace-pink and white;
And she stops her laugh
And you drop your
In the light of the Saturday night.
And the world is
For her and you-
A little bit of all-right.
p. 35THE CHAMPION
Young and a conqueror, once on a
Wild white Winter rode out this way;
With his sword of ice and his
banner of snow
Vanquished the Summer and laid her low.
Winter was young then, young and strong;
Now he is old, he
has reigned too long.
He shall be routed, he shall be slain;
come to her own again!
See the champion of Summer wake
Little armies in field and
"Cruel and cold has King Winter been;
Fight for the Summer, fight
for the Queen!"
First the aconite dots the mould
With little round
cannon-balls of gold;
Then, to help in the winter's rout,
crocuses march out.
See the swords of the flag-leaves shine;
See the shield of
And daffodil lances green and keen,
To fight for the
Summer, fight for the Queen.
Silver triumphant the snowdrop swings
Banners that mock at
And wherever the green of the new grass peers,
array of victorious spears.
36Daffodil trumpets soon shall sound
Over the garden's
And lovely ladies crowd out to see
The long procession of
Little daisies with snowy frills,
Courtly tulips and sweet
Primrose and cowslip, friends well met
With white wood-sorrel
Hundreds of milkmaids by field and fold;
buttercups licked with gold;
Budding hedges and woods and trees-
brings freedom and life to these.
Then the triumphant Spring shall ride
Over the happy
Deep in the woods the birds shall sing:
"The King is
dead-long live the King!"
But Spring is no king, but a faithful knight;
He will ride
on through the meadows bright
Till at Summer's feet he shall light him
And lay at her feet the royal crown.
She will lean down where the roses twine
may-trees' silver shine,
And look in the eyes of the dying knight
his army and won her fight.
She will stoop to his lips and say,
"Oh, live, O
love! O my true love, stay!"
While he smiles and sighs her arms
And dies for the Summer, dies for the Queen.
p. 37THE GARDEN
There is a garden made for our
Where all the dreams we dare not dream come true.
I know it, but I do not know the way.
and tumble in the doubtful night,
Where everything is difficult
And clouds our breath has made
obscure the day.
The blank unhappy towns, where sick men strive,
Still doing work that yet is never done;
The hymns to Gold that drown their desperate
The weeds that grow where once corn stood alive,
black injustice that puts out the sun:
are our portion, since they are our choice.
Yet there the garden blows with rose on rose,
The sunny, shadow-dappled lawns are there;
There the immortal lilies, heavenly sweet.
O roses, that for us shall not
O lilies, that we shall not pluck or wear!
O dewy lawns untrodden by our feet!
p. 38THESE LITTLE
"What of the garden I gave?"
God said to me;
"Hast thou been diligent to foster and save
The life of flower and tree?
How have the roses thriven,
lilies I have given,
The pretty scented miracles that Spring
come to bring?
"My garden is fair and dear,"
I said to
"From thorns and nettles I have kept it clear.
Green-trimmed its sod.
The rose is red and bright,
The lily a live
I have not lost a flower of all the flowers
That blessed my
"What of the child I gave?"
God said to
"The little, little one I died to save
And gave in trust
How have the flowers grown
That in its soul were sown,
lovely living miracles of youth
And hope and joy and truth?"
"The child's face is all white,"
I said to
"It cries for cold and hunger in the night:
feet have trod
The pavement muddy and cold.
It has no flowers to hold,
And in its soul the flowers you set are dead."
"Thou fool!" God said.
p. 39THE DESPOT
The garden mould was damp and
Winter had had his brutal will
Since over all the year's
His devastating legions went.
The Spring's bright banners came: there woke
little growing folk
Who thrilled to know the winter done,
Gave thanks, and
strove towards the sun.
Not so the elect; reserved, and slow
To trust a
stranger-sun and grow,
They hesitated, cowered and hid,
Waiting to see
what others did.
Yet even they, a little, grew,
Put out prim leaves to day
And lifted level formal heads
In their appointed garden beds.
The gardener came: he coldly loved
The flowers that lived
as he approved,
That duly, decorously grew
As he, the despot, meant them
He saw the wildlings flower more brave
And bright than any
Yet, since he had not set them there,
He hated them for
So he uprooted, one by one,
The free things that had loved
The happy, eager, fruitful seeds
Who had not known that they were
p. 40THE MAGIC RING
Your touch on my hand is fire,
Your lips on my lips are flowers.
My darling, my one desire,
Dear crown of my days and hours.
Dear crown of each hour and
Since ever my life began.
Ah! leave me-ah! go away-
We two are woman and man.
To lie in your arms and see
The stars melt
into the sun;
Till there is no you and me,
Since you and I
To loose my soul to your breath,
To bare my heart to
It is death, it is death, it is death!
I am not
The hours will come and will go,
again such an hour
When the tides immortal flow
And life is a
flood, a flower . . .
Wait for the ring; it is strong,
a magic of might
To make all that was splendid and wrong
Sordid and right.
The sulky sage scarce condescends
This pretty world of sun and grass and leaves;
'tis all illusion-only he
Is real amid the visions he
No sage am I, and yet, by Love's decree,
the world's a masque of shadows too,
And I a shadow also-since to me
The only real thing in life is-you.
p. 42THE WHIRLIGIG OF
Before your feet,
My love, my
Behold! your slave bows down;
And in his hands
Brings you another crown.
For in far climes,
In bygone times,
was royal too:
Oh, I have been
A king, my queen,
Who am a
slave for you!
What was the spell she wove for
Life was a common useful thing,
An eligible building site
To hold a house to
There were no woodlands whispering;
No unimagined dreams at night
About that house had folded wing,
Disordering my life for me.
I was so safe until she came
secrets in her eyes,
And on her lips the word
-Like to the moon of May she came,
That makes men
mad who were born wise-
Within her hand the
Man ever plucked from Paradise;
So to my
half-built house she came.
She turned my useful plot of land
garden wild and fair,
Where stars in garlands
hung like flowers:
A moonlit, lonely, lovely land.
and glimmering fountains there
secret bower of bowers,
And in its rose-ringed heart we were
Alone in that enchanted land.
What was the spell I wove for her,
dear magic to undo?
The red rose dies, the
white rose dies,
The garden spits me forth with her
old suburban road I knew.
My house is gone,
and by my side
A stranger stands with angry eyes
that swear I ruined her.
When I was little and good
walked in the dappled wood
Where light white windflowers grew,
hyacinths heavy and blue.
The windflowers fluttered light,
Like butterflies white and
The bluebells tremulous stood
Deep in the heart of the wood.
I gathered the white and the blue,
The wild wet woodland
With hands too silly and small
To clasp and carry them all.
Some dropped from my hands and died
By the home-road's
And those that my fond hands pressed
Died even before the
p. 45AS IT IS
Ifyou and I
Had wings to fly-
Great wings like seagulls' wings-
How would we soar
Above the roar
We two would rise
To blue unclouded space,
Meet the sun face to face.
But wings we know not;
feathers grow not
To carry us so high;
And low in the
Of a little room
We weep and say good-bye.
p. 46BEFORE WINTER
The wind is crying in the
Like a lost child;
The waves break wonderful and
The drenched sea-poppies swoon along
The drenched sea-wall,
And there's an end of summer and of
An end of all.
The fingers of the tortured boughs
Clutch at the windows of your house
And the lost child of love, despair,
Cries in the
Remembering how once those windows were
p. 47THE VAULT
You need not call at the Inn;
I have ordered my bed:
Fair linen sheets therein
And a tester of lead.
No musty fusty scents
Such as inn
But tapestried with content
And hung with
My Inn door bears no bar
Set up against
The guests have journeyed far,
They are glad to be
Where the damp arch curves up grey,
Long, long shall we
Good King's men all are they,
A King's man I.
Old Giles, in his stone asleep,
Piers Ralph and Roger keep
The spoil of their
I shall lie with my folk at last
In a quiet
I shall dream of the sword held fast
In a round-capped
tale of men all told
My Inn affords;
And their hands peace
That once held swords.
And we who rode and ran
On many a loyal quest
Shall find the goal of man-
A bed, and rest.
We shall not stand to the toast
Of Love or
We be all too tired to boast
dumb that did jest and sing;
We rest who laboured and warred . .
Shout once, shout once for the King.
Shout once for the
Oh, the nights were dark and
When my love was gone.
And life was hard to hold
When my love was gone.
I was wise, I never gave
teach a girl to save,
But I wished myself his slave
love was gone.
I was all alone at night
When my love came
Oh, what thought of wrong or right
When my love came
I flung the door back wide
And I pulled my love inside;
no more shame or pride
When my love came home.
Did you deceive me? Did I
A heart of fire to a heart of dust?
What matter? Since once
the world was fair,
And you gave me the rose of the world to wear.
That was the time to live for! Flowers,
starshine and magic hours,
Summer about me, Heaven above,
And all seemed
immortal, even Love.
Well, the mortal rose of your love was worth
The pains of
death and the pains of birth;
And the thorns may be sharper than death-who
That crowd round the stem of a deathless rose.
p. 51IN THE PEOPLE'S
Many's the time I've found your
Fresh as a bunch of flowers in May,
Waiting for me at
our own old place
At the end of the working day.
time I've held your hand
On the shady seat in the People's
And blessed the blaring row of the band
And kissed you
there in the dark.
Many's the time you promised true,
with kisses, swore it with tears:
"I'll marry no one without it's you-
If we have to wait for years."
And now it's another chap in the
That holds your hand like I used to do;
And I kiss
another girl in the dark,
And try to fancy it's you!
p. 52WEDDING DAY
The enchanted hour,
Where, crowned with roses,
Love love discloses.
"Kiss me, my lover;
Doubting is over,
Love lights our mating!"
"But roses wither,
Chill winds blow hither,
all say, dear,
Love lives a day, dear!"
"Heed those old stories?
New glowing glories
those lies, love!
Look in my eyes, love!
"Ah, but the world knows-
Naught of the true rose;
the world slips, love!
Give me your lips, love!
"Even were their lies true,
Yet were you wise to
at Love's portal,
The god's immortal."
p. 53THE LAST DEFEAT
Across the field of day
sudden blazon lay
The pallid bar of gold
Borne on the shield of day.
Night had endured so long,
And now the Day grew strong
With lance of light
The Night at bay.
So on my life's dull night
The splendour of your light
Traversed the dusky shield
And shone forth golden bright.
Your colours I
Through all the fight forlorn,
And these, with life, I
To-night, to Night.
p. 54MAY DAY
"Will you go a-maying, a-maying,
Come and be my Queen of May and pluck the may with
The fields are full of daisy buds and new lambs playing,
The bird is on the nest, dear, the blossom's on the tree."
"If I go with you, if I go a-maying,
your Queen and wear my crown this May-day bright,
Hand in hand straying, it
must be only playing,
And playtime ends at sunset, and then
"For I have heard of maidens who laughed and went
Went out queens and lost their crowns and came back
I will be no young man's slave, submitting and obeying,
Bearing chains as those did, even to their graves."
"If you come a-maying, a-straying, a-playing,
We will pluck the little flowers, enough for you and me;
And when the day
dies, end our one day's playing,
Give a kiss and take a kiss and
go home free."
p. 55GRETNA GREEN
Last night when I kissed you,
My soul caught alight;
And oh! how I missed you
The rest of the night-
Till Love in derision
Smote sleep with
And gave me in vision
A night that was clouded,
Dark avenues crowded
With secrets to keep.
terrace, a lover,
A foot on the stair;
The waiting was
The lady was there.
What a flight, what a night!
splashed and pounded.
Dark fainted in light
And the first
You slept on my shoulder,
Shy night hid
But dawn, bolder, colder,
Beheld our embrace.
lips of vermilion,
Your ravishing shape,
The village agape,
The rattle and thunder
Of postchaise a-speed . . .
My woman, my wonder,
My ultimate need!
We two matched for mating
Where the blacksmith was waiting
To fetter us fast .
At the touch of the fetter
The dream snapped and
And I woke to your letter
That bade me farewell.
p. 57THE ETERNAL
Your dear desired grace,
Your hands, your lips of red,
The wonder of your perfect
Will fade, like sweet rose-petals shed,
When you are dead.
Your beautiful hair
Dust in the dust will
But not the light I worship there,
The gold the sunshine
crowns you by-
This will not
Your beautiful eyes
Will be closed up with
But all the magic they comprise,
The hopes, the dreams,
All I desire and see
Will be a carrion
But all that you have been to me
Is, and can never cease to be.
O Grave! where is thy victory?
Where, Death, thy sting?
p. 58THE POINT OF VIEW:
There was never winter, summer
Pink and white and red,
Shining down the warm
rich garden closes;
Quiet trees and lawns of
Silver lilies, whisper of mignonette,
Cloth-of-gold of buttercups outspread;
Good gold sun that kissed me when we
Shadows of floating clouds on sunny
In the hay-field, scented, grey,
Loving life and love, I lay;
By fresh airs blown, drifted into sleep;
Slept and dreamed there.
Winter was the dream.
Summer never was, was always winter only;
and ice and frost
Only, driven by the ice-wind, lonely,
In a world of strangers, in the welter
puddles and the spiteful wind and sleet,
Blinded by the spitting
In a bitter unfamiliar street,
I found a doorway, crouched there for just
Crouched and fought in vain for breath,
Cursed the cold and
wished for death;
Crouched there, gathered somehow warmth to sleep;
and dreamed there. Summer was the dream.
p. 59THE POINT OF VIEW:
In the wood of lost causes, the
valley of tears,
Old hopes, like dead leaves, choke the
Dark pinions fold dank round the soul, and it hears:
"It is night, it is night, it has never been day;
dreamed of the day, of the rose of delight;
It was always dead leaves and the
heart of the night.
Drink deep then, and rest, O thou foolish wayfarer,
For night, like a chalice, holds sleep in her hands."
Then you drain the dark cup, and, half-drugged as you lie
In the arms of despair that is masked as delight,
You thrill to
the rush of white wings, and you hear:
"It is day, it is day, it
has never been night!
Thou hast dreamed of the night and the wood of lost
It was always noon, June, and red roses in sheaves,
blind lids, and behold the light-bearer
Who holds, like a monstrance, the sun
in his hands."
p. 60MARY OF MAGDALA
Mary of Magdala came to bed;
There were no soft curtains round her head;
She had no mother to hold of
The little baby she brought to birth.
Mary of Magdala groaned and prayed:
"O God, I am very much
For out of my body, by sin defiled,
Thou biddest me make a little
"O God, I have turned my face from Thee
To that which the
angels may not see;
How can I make, from my deep disgrace,
A child whose
angel shall see Thy face?
"O God, I have sinned, and I know well
That the pains I
bear are the pains of hell;
But the thought of the child that sin has
Is like the thought of the airs of Heaven."
Mary of Magdala held her breath
In the clutch of pain like
the pains of Death,
And through her heart, like the mortal knife,
pang of joy and the pang of life.
"We two are two alone," said she,
"And we are two who
should be three;
Now who will clothe my baby fair
In the little garments
that babies wear?"
came two angels with quiet wings
And hands that were full of baby things;
And the new-born child was bathed and dressed
And laid again on his mother's
"Now who will sign on his brow the mark
To keep him safe
from the Powers of the Dark?
Who will my baby's sponsor be?"
"I, the Lord
God, who died for thee."
"Now who will comfort him if he cry;
And who will suckle
him by and bye?
For my hands are cold and my breasts are dry,
And I think
that my time has come to die."
"I will dandle thy son as a mother may;
And his lips shall
lie where my own Son's lay.
Come, dear little one, come to me;
of God shall suckle thee."
Mary of Magdala laughed and sighed;
"I never deserved a
child," she cried.
"Dear God, I am ready to go to hell,
Since with my
little one all is well."
Then the Son of Mary did o'er her lean.
"Poor mother, thy
tears have washed thee clean.
Thy last poor pains, they will soon be
And My Mother shall give thee back thy son."
Frozen grass for a bearing bed,
A halo of frost round a
And pious folks who looked and said:
"A drab and her brat
that are better dead."
p. 62THE HOME-COMING
This was our house. To this
Lighted by love with torch aflame,
And in this chamber, door
I held you to my heart at last.
This was our house. In this we knew
The worst that
Time and Fate can do.
You left the room bare, wide the door;
You did not
love me any more.
Where once the kind warm curtain hung
The spider's ghostly
cloth is flung;
The beetle and the woodlouse creep
Where once I loved your
Yet so the vanished spell endures,
That this, our house,
still, still is yours.
Here, spite of all these years apart,
I still can
hold you to my heart!
p. 63AGE TO YOUTH
Sunrise is in your eyes, and in
The hope and bright desire of morn and May.
eyes are full of shadow, and my part
Of life is yesterday.
Yet lend my hand your hand, and let us sit
see your life unfolding like a scroll,
Rich with illuminated blazon, fit
For your arm-bearing soul.
My soul bears arms too, but the scroll's rolled tight,
Yet the one strip of faded brightness shown
Proclaims that when
'twas splendid in the light
Its blazon matched your own.
p. 64IN AGE
The wine of life was rough and
But sweet beyond belief,
And wrong was false, and right
The rose was in the leaf.
In that good sunlight well we knew
The hues of
wrong and right;
We slept among the roses through
Now to our eyes, made dim with years,
intertwines with wrong.
How can we hear, with these tired ears,
The old, the magic song?
But this we know-wine once was red,
red and dear;
Once in our ears the truths were said
the young men hear!
p. 65WHITE MAGIC
This is the room to which she
And Spring itself came with her;
She stirred the fire
of life to flame,
She called all music hither.
upon the lean white walls
Hung them with cloth of splendour,
And still the rose she dropped recalls
The graces that attend
The same poor room, so dull and bare
She breathed upon its common air
transfiguration . . .?
This room the same to which she came
For one immortal minute?-
How can it ever be the same
she has once been in it!
p. 66FROM THE
When I lived in the village of
There were lilies in all the orchards,
Flowers in the
For brides to wear in their hair.
It was always sunshine
Roses at every lattice,
Dreams in the eyes of maidens,
in the eyes of men.
When I lived in the village of youth
The doors, all the
doors, stood open;
We went in and out of them laughing,
calling each other
To shew each other our fairings,
The new shawl, the new
comb, the new fan,
The new rose, the new lover.
Now I live in the town of age
Where are no orchards, no
Here, too, all the doors stand open,
But no one goes in or goes
We sit alone by the hearthstone
Where memories lie like ashes
a hearth that is cold;
And they from the village of youth
Run by our doorsteps
Calling, to shew each other
The new shawl, the new comb, the new
The new rose, the new lover.
p. 67Once we
had all these things-
We kept them from the old people,
And now the young
people have them
And will not shew them to us-
To us who are old and have
But the white, still, heaped-up ashes
On the hearth where the fire
A very long time ago.
I had a mistress; I loved her.
She left me with memories bitter,
Corroding, eating my heart
As the acid
eats into the steel
Etching the portrait triumphant.
Never to be effaced.
A wife was mine to my heart,
Beautiful flower of my
Lily I worshipped by day,
Scented rose of my nights.
night wind sighing
Blows white rose petals only
Over the bed where she
I had a son; I loved him.
Mother of God, bear witness
How all my manhood loved him
As thy womanhood loved thy Son!
When he was
grown to his manhood
He crucified my heart,
And even as it hung
He laughed with his bold companions,
Mocked and turned away
With laughter into the night.
Those three I loved and lost;
But there was one who loved
With all the fire of her heart.
Mine was the sacred altar
p. 69Where she burnt her life for my worship.
my slave, my servant;
Mine all she had, all she was,
All she could suffer,
That was the love of my life,
I did not say, "She loves me";
I was so used to her love
I never asked its name,
Till, feeling the wind
Where all the doors were left open,
And seeing a fireless
And the garden deserted and weed-grown
That once was full of
flowers for me,
I said, "What has changed? What is it
That has made
all the clocks stop?"
Thus I asked and they answered:
"It is thy mother
who is dead."
And now I am alone.
My son, too, some day will stand
Here, where I stand and weep.
He too will weep, knowing too late
that wrapped round his life.
Dear God spare him this:
Let him never know
how I loved him,
For he was always weak.
He could not endure as I can.
Mother, my dear, ask God
To grant me this, for my son!
p. 70THE NEST
That was the skylark we heard
Singing so high,
The little quivering bird
saw, and the sky.
The earth was drenched with sun,
was drenched with song;
We lay in the grass and listened,
Long and long and long.
I said, "What a spell it is
Has made her
To pour out her world of bliss
In that world of
You said, "What a spell must pass
Between sky and
Since she finds in this world of grass
p. 71THE OLD MAGIC
Gray is the sea, and the skies are
They are ghosts of our blue, bright yesterday;
And gray are the
breasts of the gulls that scream
Like tortured souls in an evil dream.
There is white on the wings of the sea and sky,
are the gulls' wings wheeling by,
And white, like snow, is the pall that
Where love weeps over his memories.
For the dead is dead, and its shroud is wrought
unfound and of wrong unsought;
Yet from God's good magic there ever
The resurrection of holy things.
See-the gold and blue of our yesterday
In the eyes and the
hair of a child at play;
And the spell of joy that our youth beguiled
woven anew in the laugh of the child.
Gray and tall,
sky of gray,
And a twilight cold;
And that is all
That my eyes
But I know that unseen,
Beyond the wall,
On a lawn of green
White blossoms fall
In the waning light;
And beyond the lawn
From windows bright.
And within she moves with her gracious
And the heart that loves and that understands,
Waiting to succour
poor souls in need,
And to bind with her blessing the hearts that bleed.
I know it all, though I cannot see;
But the tired-out
Dirty and ill,
In the evening's damp,
In the Spring's clean
Knows not that there
Is the heart to care
For such as I and for
such as he.
He slouches along, and sees alone
The gray of the sky and the
gray of the stone.
Lord, when my eyes see nothing but grey
In all Thy world
that is now so green,
I will bethink me of this spring day
And the house
of welcome, known yet unseen;
The wall that conceals
And the faith that
p. 73THE DEATH OF
Now that the sunlight dies in my
And the moonlight grows in my hair,
I who was never
Never was very fair,
Virgin and martyr all my
What has life left to give
Me-who was never mother nor
Never got leave to live?
Nothing of life could I clasp or claim,
Nothing could steal or save.
So when you come to carve my name,
Give me life in my grave.
To keep me warm when I sleep alone
A lie is little to give;
Call me "Magdalen" on my stone,
Though I died and did not live.
p. 74IN TROUBLE
It's all for nothing: I've lost him
I suppose it had to be;
But oh, I never thought it of
Nor he never thought it of me.
And all for a kiss on
your evening out,
And a field where the grass was down . . .
And he 'as gone to God-knows-where,
And I may go on the
The worst of all was the thing he said
night that he went away;
He said he'd 'a married me right enough
If I hadn't 'a been so gay.
Me-gay! When I'd cried, and
I'd asked him not,
But he said he loved me so;
he wanted seemed right to me . . .
An' how was a girl to
Well, the river is deep, and drowned folk sleep sound,
An' it might be the best to do;
But when he made me a
He made me a mother too.
I've had enough sin to
last my time,
If 'twas sin as I got it by,
But it ain't no
sin to stand by his kid
And work for it till I die.
p. 75But oh!
the long days and the death-long nights
When I feel it move and
And cry alone in my single bed
And count what a girl
To buy the baby the bits of things
to ha' bought, by rights;
And wonder whether he thinks of Us . . .
And if he sleeps sound o' nights.
I found a starving cat in the
It cried for food and a place by the fire.
it home, and I strove to meet
The claims of its desire.
And since its desire was a little fish,
little hay and a little milk,
I gave it cream in a silver dish
And a basket lined with silk.
And when we came to the grateful pause
should have fawned on the hand that fed,
It turned to a devil all teeth and
Scratched me and bit me and fled.
To pay for the fish and the milk and the hay
With a purr had been an easy task:
But its hate and my blood were required to
For the gifts that it did not ask.
p. 77AT THE LAST
Where are you-you whose loving
Alone can stay my soul from death?
The world's so wide, I seek it
Yet-dare I dream to win to you?
Perhaps your dear desirèd
Pass me in this grey muddy street.
Your face, it may be, has its
In that dull house that's next to mine.
But I believe, O Life, O
That when I call on Death and wait
One moment at the unclosing
I shall turn back for one last gaze
Along the trampled, sordid
And in the sunset see at last,
Just as the barred gate holds me
Your face, your face, too late.
If you were here,
ambitions, faith would disappear,
Drowned in your eyes; and I should touch
Forgetting all that now I understand.
For you confuse my life
Of unrememberable ecstasies
Which were, and are not, and can
never be; . . .
Ah! keep the whole earth between you and me.
p. 79THE DAY OF
When the bearing and doing are
And no more is to do or bear,
God will see us and judge
The kind of men we were;
And our sins, so ugly and
We shall drag them into His sight,
And throw them down
at the foot of the throne,
Foul on the steps of light.
We shall not be shamed or frightened,
the angels are all at hand,
For He will look at our burden,
And He will understand.
He will turn to the little angels,
Agog to hear and obey,
And point to the festering sin-loads
With, "Take that rubbish away!"
Then the steps will be cleared of the burdens
That we threw down at His feet;
And we shall be washed in the tears of
And our tears bathe His feet.
And the harvest of all
That moment's shame will reap-
When we look in
the eyes that love us
And know we have made them weep.
p. 80A FAREWELL
good-bye; it is not hard to part!
You have my heart-the heart that leaps to
Your name called by an echo in a
You have my soul that, like an
Reflects your soul that leans so dear, so near-
Your heartbeats set the rhythm for my heart.
What more could Life give if we gave her
To give, and Life should give us leave to take?
Only each other's arms, each other's eyes,
Each other's lips, the clinging secrecies
are but as the written words to make
Records of what the heart
and soul achieve.
This, only this we yield, my love, my
To Fate's implacable eyes and withering breath.
We still are yours and mine, though, by Time's
My arms are empty and your arms
It is not hard to part-not harder than Death;
each of us must face Death in the end!
p. 81IN HOSPITAL
Under the shadow of a hawthorn
Where bluebells draw the sky down to the wood,
'mid brown leaves, the primroses awake
And hidden violets smell
Beneath green leaves bright-fluttered by the wing
fleeting, beautiful, immortal Spring,
I should have said, "I love you," and
Have said, "I, too . . . " The gods saw otherwise.
For this is winter, and the London streets
full of soldiers from that far, fierce fray
Where life knows death, and where
poor glory meets
Full-face with shame, and weeps and turns
And in the broken, trampled foreign wood
Is horror, and the terrible
scent of blood,
And love shines tremulous, like a drowning star,
shadow of the wings of war.
p. 82PRAYER IN TIME OF
Now Death is near, and very
In this wild whirl of horror and fear,
When round the vessel of our
Roll the great mountain waves of hate.
God! We have but one
O Father, teach us how to pray.
For prayer is strong, and very strong;
But we have turned
from Thee so long
To follow gods that have no power
Save in the safe and
That to Thy feet we have lost the way . . .
O Father, teach
us how to pray.
We have done ill, and very ill,
Set up our will against Thy
That our soft lives might gorge, full-fed,
We stole our brothers'
Lord, we are sorry we went astray-
O Father, teach us how to
Now in this hour of desperate strife
For England's life,
her very life,
Teach us to pray that life may be
A new life, beautiful to
And in Thy hands that life to lay.
O Father, teach us how to
p. 83AT PARTING
Go, since you must, but, Dearest,
That, Honour having bid you go,
Your honour, if your life be
Shall have a costly monument.
This heart, that fire and roses is
Beneath the magic of
Shall turn to marble if you die
And be your deathless
The Spirit of Darkness, the Prince
of the Power of the Air,
The terror that walketh by night, and
the horror by day,
The legions of Evil, alert and awake and aware,
Press round him each hour; and I pray here alone, far away.
God! call up Thy legions to fight on the side of my love,
Let the seats of the mighty be cast down before him, O Lord,
Send strong wings of angels to shield him beneath and above,
glorious Michael unsheath his implacable sword.
Let the whole host of Heaven take part with my dear in his
That the armies of Hell may be scattered like chaff in
And the trumpets of Heaven blow fair for the triumph of Right.
Inspire him, protect him, and bring him home victor at last.
But if-ah, dear God, give me strength to withhold nothing
If the life of my life be required for Thy splendid
Give his country the laurels, though cold and uncrowned be his brow
. . .
Thou gavest Thy Son for the world, and shallI not
p. 85TO HER: IN TIME OF
Once I made for you songs,
Rondels, triolets, sonnets;
Verse that my love deemed due,
Verse that your
love found fair.
Now the wide wings of war
Hang, like a hawk's, over
Shadowing meadows and groves;
And the birds and the lovers are
Yet there's a thing to say
Before I go into battle,
now a poet's word
But a man's word to his mate:
Dear, if I come back
Be it your pride that we gave
The hope of our hearts, each
For the sake of the Hope of the World.
p. 86THE FIELDS OF
Last year the fields were all glad
With silver daisies and silver may;
There were kingcups gold by
the river's edge
And primrose stars under every hedge.
This year the fields are trampled and brown,
The hedges are
broken and beaten down,
And where the primroses used to grow
black crosses set in a row.
And the flower of hopes, and the flowers of dreams,
noble, fruitful, beautiful schemes,
The tree of life with its fruit and
Are trampled down in the mud and the blood.
The changing seasons will bring again
The magic of Spring
to our wood and plain:
Though the Spring be so green as never was seen
crosses will still be black in the green.
The God of battles shall judge the foe
Who trampled our
country and laid her low . . .
God! hold our hands on the reckoning day,
Lest all we owe them we should repay.
p. 87SPRING IN
Now the sprinkled blackthorn
Lies along the lovers' lane
Where last year we used to
Where we shall not go again.
In the hedge the buds are new,
By our wood the
Just like last year's violets, too,
have no scent this year.
Every bird has heart to sing
Of its nest,
warmed by its breast;
We had heart to sing last spring,
we never built our nest.
Presently red roses blown
Will make all the
garden gay . . .
Not yet have the daisies grown
p. 88THE MOTHER'S
This was my little son
Who leapt and laughed on my knee:
Body we made with love,
Soul made with love by Thee.
This was the mystery
In which I worshipped Thy grace;
This was the sign to me-
The unveiling of Thy face . . .
This, that lies under Thy
Naked as on that day
When the floor of
heaven gave way
And the glory of God shone through,
When the world was made new
And Thy word was made flesh for me .
He lies there, bare to Thy skies,
O Lord God, see!
Body that was in mine
A secret, sacred
Little hands I have kissed
Trampled by beasts in Hell
. . .
Growing beauty and grace . . .
Oh, head that lay on my
bosom . . .
Broken, battered, shattered . . .
Body that grew
like a blossom!
All that was promised me
On my life's royal
Every promise broken-
Only a ghost, and clay!
p. 89O God,
I kneel at Thy feet;
I lay my hands in Thine:
Thou gavest Thy
Son for the world,
And shall I not give mine?
God, have pity!
All my defences are down:
God, I accept the
Let him have the Crown!
By all that my love has borne,
By all that all
By the infinite patient anguish,
By the thoughts that cut like a living knife,
By the tears that are never dry,
Take what he died to win
God, take Your victory!
We have watched on till the light burned low,
And watched the dawn awake;
We have lived hardly and hardly fared
For our sons' sake.
All that was good in Thy earth,
All that taught us of Heaven,
All that we had in the world
We have given.
We pray with empty hands
hearts that are stiff with pain.
O God! O God! O God!
Let the sacrifice not be vain.
This is his blood, Lord, see!
His blood that was shed for Thee;
Thy banner is dyed in that red tide
Lord, take Thy victory!
give Thine angels power
To fight as he fought,
To scatter the
hosts of evil,
To bring their boastings to naught-
with trumpet of battle . . .
Michael, who wields Thy sword . .
Breathe Thou Thy spirit upon them,
Put forth Thy strength,
See, Lord, this is his body,
Broken for Thee, for
Thee . . .
My son, my little son,
Who leapt and laughed on my
p. 91"INASMUCH AS YE DID
IT NOT . . . "
If Jesus came to London,
Came to London to-day,
He would not go to the West End,
He would come down our way;
He'd talk with the children
To the organ out in the street,
And say he was their
And give them something to eat.
He wouldn't go to the mansions
He'd come to the tenement houses
ain't got nothing to give.
He'd come so kind and so homely,
And treat us to beer and bread,
And tell us how we ought to behave;
And we'd try to mind what He said.
In the warm bright West End churches
and preach and pray,
They call us "Beloved brethren,"
they do not act that way.
And when He came to the church door
He'd call out loud and free,
"You stop that preaching and praying
And show what you've done for Me."
they'd say, "O Lord, we have given
To the poor both blankets and
And we've tried to make them sober,
And we've tried
to teach them facts.
But they will sneak round to the drink-shop,
And pawn the blankets for beer,
And we find them very
But still we persevere."
Then He would say, "I told you
The time I was
That you were all of you brothers,
All you that
I suffered for.
I won't go into your churches,
I'll stop in
the sun outside.
You bring out the men your brothers,
for whom I died!"
Out of our beastly lodgings,
From arches and
They'd have to do as He told them,
have to call us out.
Millions and millions and millions,
Thick and crawling like flies,
We should creep out to the sunshine
And not be afraid of His eyes.
He'd see what God's image looks like
have dealt with the same,
Wrinkled with work that is never done,
Swollen and dirty with shame.
He'd see on the children's
The branded gutter-sign
That marks the girls to be
That dooms the boys to be swine.
He'd say, "What's the good of churches
When these have nowhere
And how can I hear you praying
When they are
cursing so deep?
I gave My Blood and My Body
That they might
have bread and wine,
And you have taken your share and theirs
Of these good gifts of mine!"
Then some of the rich would be sorry,
would be very scared,
And they'd say, "But we never knew, Lord!"
And He'd say, "You never cared!"
And some would be sick and
Because they'd know that they knew,
And the best
would say, "We were wrong, Lord.
Now tell us what to do!"
I think He'd be sitting, likely,
'ud bring Him a chair,
With a common kid cuddled up on His knee
And the common sun on His hair;
And they'd be standing before
And He'd say, "You know that you knew.
Why haven't you
worked for your brothers
The same as I worked for you?
"For since you're all of you brothers
clear as God's blessed sun
That each must work for the others,
Not thousands work for one.
And the ones that have lived
If they want Me to hear them pray,
Let them go and
work for their livings
The only honest way!
got nothing new to tell you,
You know what I always said-
you've built their bones into churches
And stolen their wine and
You with My Name on your foreheads,
Liar, and traitor,
You have lived by the death of your brothers,
These whom I died to save!"
I wish He would come and say it;
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they'd believe it then,
And work like men for their livings
And let us work like men.
Brothers? They don't believe it,
The lie on their lips is red.
They'll never believe till He
Or till we rise from the dead!