Part 2
O will you come with me away, Brother--my Brother! The night is spent, and breaks the day, Brother--my Brother! Have done with the dream and the pillowing stone! Awake! Over vast spaces the winds are blown To buffet and bear you from shadowing sleep. Up the high places Seraphim faces Brighten and burn as the disk of the sun Stands on the brow of yon mountain, to keep Guard of your path till the journey is done!
THE KING OF GLORY
Give us this day a man so strong He will not falter in his song, Muting his instrument to please The backward-glancing Pharisees.
He must be one to whom a child Comes with sweet laughter, reconciled From tears because he passes by Like a white cloud in yonder sky.
Women shall claim him for a friend, Hail him as brother, gladly spend The price of spikenard for his head, Weep at his tomb when he is dead.
From seat of customs or the nets, Workshop or plough or minarets, Men will respond to his clear call And in his battles proudly fall.
This Lord must be no shrouded form Of God Incarnate, but the norm Of manhood for an eager age-- Our prophet, poet, teacher, sage.
If sin be missing of the mark, Sped was the arrow in the dark: With light shed from that Brother's face, Each well-aimed bolt shall find its place.
Not to dead yesterdays, but now Belongs that wide and august brow From whose vast mind a word shall be Spoken to set thought-forces free--
Thought-forces fettered by the ban Of some far-thundering Vatican, Which from the age of stone to this Cramped them by every artifice.
He will lift up a mighty hand Against oppression; will demand From kings and councils an account Of stewardship--of the amount
Taken by them in turn for toil That starves the tiller of the soil; Will seek to know the reason why The millions in their hunger cry.
His clear, calm eyes will pierce excuse Of man defending his abuse Of power; like a two-edge sword Will be dividing of his word.
He will not quote some ancient saw-- A text of scripture from the Law, Nor will he seek by miracle To blind all reason; he will tell
The tyrant and the turbaned priest: "Because ye did it to the least Of these my brothers, made their world Hell--to that hell be also hurled!
"Forth from your lands into the street; Huckster and harlot, beggar meet; Lift from each head its crown of thorn, And kiss those feet the nails have torn!
"Into the hell of every hate, Vice and foul lust insatiate, Descend and learn what ye have done, Who from earth's children stole the sun;
"Stole field and forest, mountain, river-- Pretending that some royal giver Bestowed them on your sculptored sires Sleeping beneath their ancient spires!
"Ye who have taught that God is wrath; Ye who have driven down the path Of fear the frightened souls of men; Ye who have made His house a den
"For thieves to bargain gold for grace: Ye hypocrites with pious faces And downcast eyes, your litanies-- Your candle-lights and threnodies
"Rise not to Him who clothes the grass With glory and whose holy Mass Is in the olive and the vine-- Not in your wafer and your wine!"
Send such a man again on earth, As He whom Mary brought to birth, And whom the people in their pride Rejected and then crucified!
Only, O God of stone and star! We will not hale him to the bar Of Pilate and Caiaphas; We will lift up the gates of brass
And open wide our golden doors, Proclaiming while his splendour pours Over the world he comes to win: "The King of Glory shall come in!"
MATINS
Good morning, friend! What of the night? Through yonder cloud one shaft of light, Shot from the bow of Hunter Day, Strikes on the world; his hound-winds bay Down valleys where the wheat and rye Their gold with green of forest vie.
Lift up your head! Behold how fair Creation is: The ocean-air Beats billowing upon the strand Of endless leagues of summer land, And freighted ships of scented bales, Wild blossoms, spread their tinctured sails.
See how God with an artist's grace Gives soul to every flower-face! Beneath His touch a leaf is green, A berry, red! Mark how, between The captive daisies, come and pass Phalanxes of the guarding grass!
The night was dark, you say: wild fears Took shape on torrent-flood of tears; Dim phantoms of the host of hate Pursued you down the gulfs of fate, Smiting you with their harpy-wings Up steeps of weird imaginings!
My friend! Each in his turn has known Night and her shapes of fear; the stone Of striving Sisyphus has torn All who have dared the mount of Morn: The tree where Buddha's vision fell Was planted in a pit of hell!
No soul has seen its promised land, Who felt not first some Pharaoh's hand-- Behind achievement, stir and stress Of desert-days and wilderness; Learn by the way that Jesu trod How from the brute man grows a god!
Who stands against you in your path May reap with you your aftermath; And less of bitterness than bliss Is stored within a traitor's kiss: The demon who holds back your soul Will crown you victor at the goal!
The bugles blow, the trumpets call, And at their sound the towers fall; Beleaguered bastions are down Within yon ancient fortressed town: Go up and let each cobbled street Clang back to your triumphant feet!
A CRADLE SONG OF LIFE
Lullaby baby, Hushaby baby! After the day Comes night with a dream! Dear little hands, Dear little feet, Quiet at last; Closed are the eyes: Lullaby, hushaby baby!
When you awake Will you forget All the old toys, The lessons you learned, The bruises that hurt When you fell down?
Uncouthly you sprawled And frequently fell, Learning to walk: Was falling a sin, Were bruises a shame, Baby, my brave little baby?
What dreams do you dream, What sounds do you hear Out of the splendour-- Out of the wonder-- Out of the peace Of Rest-A-While Land?
How little they know Who call this a grave-- 'Tis but a cradle, And death is a sleep From which you will waken To try it again!
How little they know Who prattle of sin, And tell on their beads Misereres for grace: Baby must fall That baby may rise!
Renewed by the rest, Made strong by the dream, More firmly your feet Shall find out a way Past the old blunders Into the dawn!
Lullaby baby, Hushaby baby! After the day Comes night with a kiss Soft on the brow, Hands and the feet-- Folding them, Holding them-- Feet that are tired from falling; Hands that are weary from failing; Brow that is furrowed from weeping: Brow, hands, feet--resting for mastery!
A SONG OF THE ALL
Brother, my Brother! whoever you are, Rocked in the atom and nursed in the star, Swaddled in flesh by the great Elohim-- Lords of the Flame--and whose day is a dream Known in the night: O my Brother, all hail!
Hither a prophet, a priest or a slave, Came you, my Brother--a king or a knave, Black man or red man or brown man or white, Out of the land of an infinite light? Here are my heart and my hand to you: hail!
Are you a liar, a sycophant's self Sold for a shekel and pandering pelf? Are you a snob or a murderer, thief, Cringing to hell with the devil for chief? Here are my robe and my crown to you: hail!
Greet you, my Brother! for I am all things-- Dust of the stars and the music of wings-- Eyes of the angels and Lucifer's mouth-- Wind of the North and a wind of the South-- Here are my sandals and staff to you: hail!
THE SLOW EMERGER
I am the Slow Emerger: Patience and wait for me, Nor be afraid that I will fail you-- You holder of fair morning heights-- You dancing with the rosy dawn!
It has been long and hard for me, This task of slow emergence from the clod. Brute-shapes still prowl about me in the shadows, Their fangs are sometimes fastened to my feet; So that I cannot walk from pain of them, So that I halt and cry out--lonely in the night!
Sometimes I see you, Woman-- You the watchful, waiting one of ages-- You with the dawn and godlike-- You past all torment that I know-- You the understanding.
Sometimes I see you in a shaft of light Smiting the mists of valleys where I call, Dividing them as with a two-edged sword Swung by an angel! In that vision Rage of tusk and tooth and fang Falls like the waves in their wind-drifted foam Upon the scarlet laughter of wild poppies!
I have deceived you; You in turn have punished me-- Have punished me with a mere semblance of yourself: A figure, rose-lipped, white fleshed, With wild witcheries of ample breasts-- Limbs smooth and dimpled as for kisses-- A dear and tender fiction of yourself; A fiction of yourself that did escape me, Leaped up to claim those hills remote from me Until I learned man must not chain a woman's soul!
O Woman, wait for me-- Be patient; for I strive Out of the shadow Where the brute Still fastens with his fang My bleeding feet-- My weary, stumbling feet: Nor be afraid that I will fail you-- You holder of far morning heights-- You dancing with the dawn!
A SONG OF THE NEW GODS
The gods of vast Valhalla Are silent in their hall; Zeus looks not from Olympus; Jehovah's rod has fallen And Buddha sleeps among his Poppies: The old gods, the great gods, Thunder and nod no more!
Yea, though we fiction them, Pretending that their stone eyes stare-- That their ears of marble harken, We know that all the gods of yesterday are dead!
Weep not for Apollo; Sigh not for Cynthia; Call not for Aphrodite Coming from the foam; Beat not the breast for Balder-- Balder the Beautiful, Slain by dark Loki: These were but dreams in the night Of the day that is ours.
Sing for the day that is ours-- For the gods who are here, Titans whose strength is greater Than snake-strangling Hercules!
Sing for the gods of the oppressed, The cleansers of slums, The Christs of great Golgothas Mounded of old wrongs Hurting the people!
Sing for the smiters of tenements-- Lairs of disease, of the white death!
Sing for the slayers of sweat-shop owners-- The taskmasters of children!
Sing for the guardians of girls, The saviours of modern Madonnas-- Custodians of wells unpolluted For the renewal of men!
Sing for the wielders of axe and the hammer; The gods of the crowbar and shovel; For those who go down to the sea in ships, Having their business in the great waters;
For those who find out a path Which no fowl knoweth, Which the lion's whelps tread not-- The veins of the silver and gold, Of the carbonized sunlight and laughter!
Sing for the prophets of labour, Rebukers of Ahab greedy of gardens Delved and possessed by another!
Sing for the women who claim the lost title: "Comrade and equal of Man," Women who strike from their sisters AEonian fetters of custom, Bidding them stand and be free from their masters!
Sing for the priests of the Lord's House, Who lift up the vessels thereof with clean hands, Knowing great Christ when He cometh, Truthful interpreters of signs and of omens!
Sing for the harpers on highways Who make the world dance to their song, Turning the laughter of leaves into words!
Brother, this the world wonderful Transcends Valhalla. Everywhere falls the ambrosial Smell of the garlands immortal; Everywhere tones of an infinite Iris-bow, bent for achievement, Pass the promise of Noah-- Ours not promise, ours fulfilment!
This is the day of the ages, Heaven is here for the claiming-- Now! Now! Rise up and take it. "I said ye are gods"--? I say you are gods-- Yea, you are more than God's Image, You are God's Self! worship none other.
Have done with your idols, The old gods, the dead gods! Blow up the trumpets-- Beat on the cymbals-- Strike on the harpstrings-- Let sound the psalteries-- Thunder the tabour!
Shout with the Levites, White-robed and ready, Round the old world-walls!
Shatter with sound Jericho! Jericho! Topple its bastions, Bloodstained and brutal, Down to the dust Drifting to deserts Remote and forgotten!
Bring in the New Year, Brothers, my brothers-- Proclaim this the Sabbath!
THE OPTIMIST
"There is no evil anywhere"-- Said I unto the priest Who answered: "Life is cursed with care, Sin makes of man a beast!"
"Care is not any curse"--I cried, "To fail is not to sin." "Wherefore upon the rood Christ died, If not our souls to win?"
"Because a hero must face death, If death be in the way." And as I paused to take my breath, The priest began to say:
"Son, you forget how Adam fell, Losing his high estate; And so God doomed him unto hell, Save for the Master's fate."
"Yes, I forget--and gladly too-- That ancient Hebrew tale: How God began a thing to do-- Can the Eternal fail?
"Can He who rides upon the storm, Who breathes and, lo, the stars! Whose thought begets a flower-form, With leaves for avatars;
"Can He who crowns the grass with dew, And gems the wood with rain; Fail of His purpose?"--My priest drew His breath and spoke again:
"Alas, my son! Your words are wild And far from holy faith; Your reason is of one beguiled By some infernal wraith--
"Do you not know the written Word Tells of our father's fall? Have you not seen, have you not heard How death rules over all?"
"There is no death"--I quickly said; And he: "But all must die!" "Now is Christ risen from the dead!" Forthwith I made reply.
"Now is Christ risen and become Firstfruits of them that slept!" And lo, the fluent priest was dumb-- He was like one who wept!
"Ah, you have suffered, you have sinned, Have known the dark abyss, Have felt upon the roaring wind The phantom of a kiss;
"You have looked in a woman's eyes Lit with her love of you, And such a moment made you wise!" He murmured: "It is true."
"Tell me, O priest, was it not worth Eternity of hell, When in your heart dear love had birth?"-- Tears from his closed eyes fell.
"Then your great moment gives the point To what I said before-- There is no evil. You anoint The spirit's open door--
"A dying body--set the seal Of some old covenant, As though the spirit did not feel The Comrade-Visitant;
"As though the soul were not God's son Knowing as he is known, Who hath by cross and passion won His place beside the throne!
"If all my life were in the dark And dread of endless doom, Think you that I should fail the spark That gleamed athwart the gloom--
"My moment when I soared to bliss Upon a woman's lips And that revealing word--her kiss-- Thrilled to my finger tips?
"Nay; by that instant I should know Evil--so called--worth while, Accept the challenge, forward go Bravely against the mile;
"Till by degrees the lengthened space Should give me stronger thews, A firmer tread, a purer face, A never-empty cruse:
"I then should reach a gentler hand To cripples by the way, Strike off the fetters, loose the band, Turn night into the day.
"My tongue would be a tuned reed, My throat a silver horn, My lips for fuller faith would plead From even unto morn.
"I should not waste the miracle Divine--the gift of speech-- With fancied images of hell-- This only would it teach:
"If God with lilies keeps a tryst, Then He will also keep Faith with that moment of the Christ Who walks upon the deep--
"Christ walks upon the deep with him Who dares the rising wave, And though his failing faith grow dim, Finds love is strong to save;
"Knows love is strong to save and lift The flagging feet that fail, Hearing across the cloudy drift: 'Courage, O comrade, hail!'
"Who sees the Presence, finds the Face, And hears the mystic word; Who moves to his appointed place, Like any homing bird;
"Who never doubts the highest peak Of his transcendent hour, And boldly ventures forth to seek Fulfilment of his power:
"For him God waits beyond the sun, His Christ of many scars, To give for that which he hath done A heritage of stars."
REVELATION
All is revealed--naught is concealed! Sudden and swift, like the feet of the spring; Laughter of children in torrents of tears; Breathing of blossoms from orchards that fling Perfumes in prodigal scorn of the years Empty of fruitage; like the touch of a hand Soft and compassionate, known in the deep Valley of Death; like the flame from the brand Flung from a watchfire to frighten and keep Back from the fold the striped Terror that stares: All is revealed!
A SONG OF WORKERS
Hail to the hodmen, The builders of houses! Hail to the navvies Laying pipes for pure water! Hail to the miners Prisoned in pits, Cleaving the coal, Dauntless of death from the gases!
Here's to you, sailors, Brave on the boisterous Breast of the ocean, Tanned by the sun and the tempest! Here's to you, trainmen-- Couplers and stokers-- All you conductors-- You with your hand on the throttle!
Gloria! Doctors, Nurses and mothers, Teachers of children, Patient with feet that are plodding; Gloria! Students, Lovers of nature, And you scientists-- Priests of the veiled, vast Shekinahs!
A SONG OF BATTLES
You will not do this thing again! What thing? Mistake of owning overmuch: Great palaces and princely halls, Gardens of Babylon that hang High on a many-terraced hill, Created at the cost of slaves Dead by the thousands; that some queen Might gaze in rapture of her lord.
Strange how the saddened centuries Stood clothed in garments red with blood Poured from the veins of innocents, Their mothers glad to give them birth, Their fathers driven forth to slay And to be slain on battle fields!
Why?--Why? Because a few men sold their souls For little heaps of minted gold-- Round pieces stamped with Caesar's face Or Alexander's awful brow-- Gold pieces whose possession gives Command of battle ships and legions armed for enemies, Raised up because of gold! gold! gold!
For when man gathers overmuch God is exchanged for paltry dust; And when God goes the devil comes In panoply of armies: Drums beating-- Trumpets blowing-- Flags fluttering--- Men hating, fighting, bleeding, dying; Women wailing and beating their breasts; Cities in conflagration; Tall towers tumbling to an accompaniment of thunder, Tumbling down among the statues and the pictures, Silencing the song of the singers, Making the beautiful ugly, Smothering in wide encompassing smoke The children--the glad, the wonderful children-- God's lilies of laughter-- His immaculate ones!
I tell you gold is the cause of war, That war is the price we pay for gold-- Gold for which we give God!
You will not do this thing again! What thing? Mistake of owning overmuch.
CAN YOU FORGET
Can you forget the pyramids, Persepolis and Tyre? Can you forget the barges on the Nile, The sculptor with his chisel and his artist-soul a-fire With a dream of Mother Isis and her smile? His dream that made immortal One pillar of the portal-- 'Tis broken now but beautiful above the yellow Nile!
Can you forget the reedy pipes, the cymbals and the songs; The sun upon the desert like a targe; The shaking of the sistrum and the beating of the gongs; The fury of the spear-thrust in the charge? O leave your milk and honey, Your little bags of money, And dream the ancient dream again above the yellow Nile!
BARTIMAEUS
Bartimaeus at the highroad, Begging from the passer by Just enough to stop his hunger-- Hear him cry!
Blind is he and lone and ragged, With no friendly hand to lead-- And the sky all blue above him! Hear him plead.
There are olives and pomegranates Green and gold among the hills, Miles of vineyards through the valleys Fed by rills.
In the distance is a city Walled and white beneath the sun, Domed and delicate with towers-- One by one
Rising up like fingers lifted High in a perpetual prayer To Jehovah God who pities Want and care.
Near the blind man, gray and broken Is an ancient olive-press-- Blue and scarlet blossoms give it Tenderness,
Weave a spell of summer-beauty On each stained and splintered stone, Give the pile a royal grandeur Of a throne.
On the road are many people-- Laughing as they hurry down To the little homes that wait them In the town.
Comes a merchant on his camel-- Silk from Araby he sells: Listen to the rhythmic clangour Of the bells!
Comes a priest back from the Temple, Pondering the written Law, Blind to all the lovely blossoms In the awe,
In the testamented terror Of the lengthened scroll he reads; While the beggar at the highroad Vainly pleads!
Comes a wanton in her madness, Drifting down the human stream; In her eyes the haunting horror Of a dream!
Comes a harpist gaily singing, Brave above the smitten cords, Glancing at the royal huleh And the gourds.
Come two lovers from betrothal-- She is on a milk-white ass, And he strides in strength beside her; As they pass,
Bartimaeus pleads for pity: "Give the blind man of our all," Breathes the maiden, and the young man-- Straight and tall--
Gives three shekels to the beggar, Turns and looks into her eyes; Then they journey to their waiting Paradise!
* * * * *
Strange!--That day three people only Heard blind Bartimaeus' cry-- These, and Jesus Christ of Nazareth Passing by!
THE COCK
A cross within the portico, And leaning near an oaken door Through which the people come and go, As they have never done before.
A cock upon the transverse beam Is perched. Within the High Priest's hall A man's voice rises to a scream: "God's Face! I know Him not at all!"
A noise of laughter and of blows: "Ha! Prophet, tell us--who smote Thee?" "In sooth, this fellow Jesu knows!" "Art Thou the Christ? Come answer me!"
The morning star pales in the sky-- The paschal moon dips down the hills-- The vineyards in the valley lie Veiled in the mist of many rills.
A gleam of silver in the east; The cock awakes and spreads his wings; And he who of the day is priest, This canticle of Jesu sings:
Wake up! Wake up! Jerusalem-- This is the day That men will slay The starry Son of Bethlehem!
Like one lone cedar straight and tall, He stands within the High Priest's hall. His hands are bound, His breast is bare, There is no pity anywhere. His eyes are dim-- They laugh at Him; And since He will not to them speak, A man now smites Him on the cheek!
Wake up! Wake up! Jerusalem-- This is the day That men will slay The starry Son of Bethlehem! Above the burning coals there stands One who is stretching forth his hands: Three times has he his Friend denied Who must this day be crucified! Those eyes so dim Have looked at him; And he who thrice denied and swore Is running blindly to the door!
Wake up! Wake up! Jerusalem-- The silver dawn Is coming on-- A star hangs over Bethlehem! A breath of buds is in the air; The feet of Spring are on the stair, Descending to her olive-press From Winter's palace, and her dress Is wrought with flowers Of summer showers; A tear of woe is in her eye-- She mourns that Mary's Son must die!
Wake up! Wake up! Jerusalem-- The night is spent-- Repent! Repent! What do ye down in Bethlehem? Cedron is calling soft and low; Gethsemane will never know Again the touch of Jesu's feet: O Nazareth, This day the death Of Him who loved you is your loss-- I call this to you from His cross!
THE STREAM