But never spake a word.
Since earth his body would not,
He must drag it to and fro,
He had tried in vain to be quit of it, But it would not let him go.
So the soul of Judas Iscariot
Came by the Potter’s Field,
And there the ill his deed had wrought Was unto him revealed.
And when the others saw him,
They leaped at him eagerly;–
“This is he for whom we suffer!
–‘Tis he! ‘Tis he! ‘Tis he!”
Then all afire with mad desire,
They chased him through the dark,
And each soul carried his dead bodie, Grim, and stiff, and stark.
They struck at him with their bodies, They cursed him for his sin,
They made to tear his dumb soul there, With their fingers long and lean.
And Judas fled in his horror,
With that fell crew behind,
And as they sped the people said
Death rode upon the wind.
They chased him near, they chased him far, Because of his treachery,
And ever he just escaped their lust, And ever they were nigh.
They chased him near, they chased him far, And ever they were nigh,
And never a star shone out on them
Out of the cold black sky.
And as they sped by Calvary,
There were empty crosses three,–
And on the ground, below the mound, Lay one in agony.
“_Three times I swore I knew Him not, And then–He looked on me.
Ah, such a look!–no harshest word
Had ever proved so sharp a sword
To my inconstancy_.
“_Three times I did deny Thee, Lord!
And yet, thou couldst forgive,
Now am I thine–in life, in death;
Thee will I serve with every breath, While I have breath to give_.”
They sped by an open window,
Where one knelt all alone,
In great amaze, in greater grief,
In woe that wrestled with belief,
The Mother mourned her Son.
“_My son, I knew thee more than man,– Ah me!–and the heart of me!
Yet, man in God, and God in man,
Still wast thou part of me_.
“_The nails through thy dear hands and feet,– Ah me! they pierced my own.
The thorns that on thy brow they plied,– The spear they drove into thy side,–
The pangs thy Godhead could not hide,– They pierced me too, my son_.
“_My son! My son! My more than son,
My heart is full for thee!
Yet, tho’ I know thee so much more
Than ever mortal man before,–
Yet, tho’ I worship and adore,–
Woe’s me!–and the heart of me_!”
And ever they came by the Potter’s Field, And thrust their bodies in,
And ever the sick earth spat them out, Because of Iscariot’s sin.
They sped along a palace-wall,
The feast waxed high inside,–
On Golgotha the Cross still stood,
The Cross where man had nailed his God, Red was the Rood still with his blood,– They drank–“_The Crucified_!”
The revel gashed the sombre night,
And fast the wine-cups plied,–
Time touched Eternity that day;–
God had come down to man that day;– The world began anew that day;–
They drank–“_The Crucified_!”
And ever again to the Potter’s Field, The Souls in torment came,
But the black quag boiled and writhed and coiled, And would have none of them.
And everywhere strange shapes of death Walked in the fearsome gloom,
For that last cry from Calvary
Had rent in twain the Temple vail,
And burst the gates of Doom.
Through all the startled city, walked The saints that had been dead,
And to the sorrowful in heart
Holy comfort ministrèd.
And when they met Iscariot,
Sore hounded in the chase,
They cried to him, for the Love of God, To seek God’s grace.
And ever to the Field of Death,
The souls in torment came,
Seeking the rest of the Blessèd Dead,– But earth would none of them.
And as they whirled through a garden, They came on an empty tomb,
The stone was gone, a soft light shone Full softly on the gloom.
Bright was that Light, and wondrous bright, ‘Twas brighter than the sun;
As then it shone, so shines it now, And shall when Time is done.
And all along the pathway
Was a track of throbbing light;
Where the Christ had gone His footsteps shone, Like stars in a velvet night.
‘Twas the spent soul of Iscariot
Was like the wind-blown dust,
As nearer still, and near, and near, He bent and crept, in doubt, and fear,
He came because he must.
‘Twas the sick soul of Iscariot
That drew from out the night
And the full of his sin was known to him In the Shining of the Light.
In the rim of the Light he laid him,
Repented of his sin.
“_I wotted not! I wotted not!
Dear Master, take me in_!”
And as he lay there sorrowing,
Up came the felon crew.
They flailed him with their dead bodies They heeded not his rue.
They flailed him with their dead bodies, They heeded not their spleen.
“_I wotted not! I wotted not!
Dear Master, take me in_!”
And then … a Vision and a Voice,–
And the Word made manifest,–
“_Lay down thy load where I abode,
And I will give thee rest_!
“_And ye,–no more hunt Iscariot!
He repents him of his sin.
And never a soul that repenteth
But he may enter in_.
“_This Day the Door is opened
That shall never close again,
And never a soul that would come in Shall seek to come in vain_.”
And the dead soul of Iscariot
Was born again that night;
For the Lord Christ came dead souls to claim And lead them into Light.
And the souls of the unburied,
When they looked upon His face,
Were cleansed of sin and entered in To His redeeming grace.
So, by that wonderful great Love
Which highest heaven extols,–
To Mother Earth their dead bodies,
And unto Christ their souls.
PROFIT AND LOSS
Profit?–Loss?
Who shall declare this good–that ill?– When good and ill so intertwine
But to fulfil the vast design
Of an Omniscient Will?–
When seeming gain but turns to loss,– When earthly treasure proves but dross,– And what seemed loss but turns again
To high, eternal gain?
Wisest the man who does his best,
And leaves the rest
To Him who counts not deeds alone,
But sees the root, the flower, the fruit, And calls them one.
FREE MEN OF GOD
Free men of God, the New Day breaks
In golden gleams across the sky;
The darkness of the night is past,
This is the Day of Victory.
For this our fathers strove,
In stern and fiery love–
That men to come should be
Born into liberty–
That all should be–as we are–Free!
Free men of God, gird up your loins,
And brace you for the final fight!
Strike home, strike home for Truth and Right! –Yet bear yourselves as in His sight!
For this our fathers fought,
This with their lives they bought– That you and I should be
Heirs of their liberty–
That all should be–as we are–Free!
Free men we are and so will be;
We claim free access unto Him,
Who widened all the bounds of life, And us from bondage did redeem.
Let no man intervene,
Or draw a vail between
Us and our God, for He
Would have His people free,–
And we would be–as Thou art–Free.
Free men of God, your Birthright claim! Our fathers won it with a price.
They paid in full to axe and flame, Nor counted up the sacrifice.
This is our heritage,
And here we do engage,
Each man unto his son
Intact to pass it on.
So shall they be–as we are–Free!
Our Sure Defence, in times of stress, Thy gates stand open, wide and free,
When men provoke and wrongs oppress, We seek Thy wider liberty.
With loftier mind and heart,
Let each man bear his part!
So–to the final fight,
And God defend the right!
We shall, we must, we will be–Free!
TREASURE-TROVE
Lord Christ, let me but hold Thy hand And all the rest may go.
For nothing is, but only seems,
And life is full of idle dreams,
Until Thyself we know.
The whole wide world is nought beside The wonder of Thy love.
And though my state be mean and strait, Give me but heart to work and wait,
And I have Treasure-Trove.
THE GATE
“A little child shall lead them.”
I trod an arduous way, but came at last To where the city walls rose fair and white Above the darkening plain,–a goodly sight. And eagerly, while yet a great way off,
My eyes did seek the Gates–the Great White Gates That close not ever, day or night, but stand Wide as the love of Christ that opened them. But nought could I discern of gate or breach, The wall stood flawless far as eye could reach.
“But when I drew in closer to the wall, I saw a lowly portal, strait and small;
So small, a man might hardly enter there, Low-browed and shadowed, and close-pressed to earth– A very needle’s eye–scarce visible.
I looked and wondered. Could this trivial way Be the sole entrance to the light of day? And as I stood perplext, a clear voice cried,– _Come! Enter in! The Gate is open wide_.”
And while I stood in doubt, there came along One of earth’s mighty ones–a conqueror
Of Kings. He looked for gates that should swing wide To meet his high estate and welcome him. He stood and gazed, then raised his voice and cried, “My work on earth is done. I would within,” And from the City wall the voice replied,– “_Come! Enter in! The Gate is open wide_.” He stood perplext, then set himself to wait, Till Might should help him to discern the Gate.
Another came,–a man of mind so rare, He scarce had breathed the common earthly air. Knowledge was his, and wisdom so profound, All things he knew in heaven and earth. No bound To his accomplishment, until he sought
The great wide-opened Gate,–and found it not. He stood perplext, and then cried wearily, “Pray give me entrance. I am done with earth.” And from the City wall the clear voice cried,– “_Come! Enter in! The Gate is open wide_.” He looked in vain, then set himself to wait, Till Wisdom should direct him to the gate.
I saw a woman come, noble and fair,
And pure of heart, and in her goodly deeds More richly robed than Fashion’s fairest queen. And to myself I said,–“Surely for her
A way will open that she may go in!” She said no word, but stood and looked upon The shining walls, with eyes that answering shone. And from the City wall the clear voice cried,– “_Come! Enter in! The Gate is open wide_.” She looked in vain, then set herself to wait, Till Love should help her to discern the Gate.
And one there came, with clear keen face–a Judge Of men on earth, and famed for fearless truth. His robes were stainless and his heart was clean. “Entrance I crave,” he cried, “to well-earned rest,– And mercy-tempered justice and no more.” And from the City wall the clear voice cried,– “_Come! Enter in! The Gate is open wide_.” He looked in vain, then set himself to wait Till Judgment should direct him to the Gate.
And one there came, sad-eyed, his brow still raw From pressure of an earthly crown. He too Sought glorious entrance through wide-opened gates, And stood perplext. He had borne well his part, And served his people and his God, and died The Martyr’s death, and yet he found no gate. “I fain would rest,” he cried. “My life has been One ceaseless striving. I would enter in.” And from the City wall the clear voice cried,– “_Come! Enter in! The Gate is open wide_.” Perplext he stood, then set himself to wait, Till Patient Waiting should discern the Gate.
And one who had had riches beyond most, And yet subserved them to his Master’s good, Came searching for the heavenly gates, and stood Amazed to find no opening in the walls.
“I gave of all I had,” he cried, “and held Nought as my own,–yet entrance is denied.” And from the City wall the clear voice cried,– “_Come! Enter in! The Gate is open wide_.” He stood perplext, then set himself to wait Till Charity should point him to the Gate.
And many more there were who entrance craved, And sought the Great White Gates, and stood perplext. And ever, from within, the clear voice cried,– “_Come! Enter in! The Gate is open wide_.” They sought in vain, and set themselves to wait Till Light was given them to discern the Gate.
And then–a child in white came carolling Along the arduous road we all had trod.
He stopped and looked, then laughed with childish glee,– “_Why wait ye here without? Come, follow me_!”– And passed, scarce bending, through the lowly door,– We heard his singing,–him we saw no more.
The woman stooped and looked, with eyes that shone, Into the doorway where the child had gone; Then loosed her robes and dropped, and in a shift Of pure white samite, on her hands and knees She crept into the doorway and was gone, And we stood gazing at the way she went.
And, one by one, they followed. First the Judge Laid by his robes, and bowed him to the ground, And followed–where the little child had led. And he whose brow had borne that weighty crown Bent low and followed,–where the little child had led. And he who knew so much of earthly things Discarded them, and, on his hands and knees, Crept through the doorway,–where the little child had led. And he of riches laid him in the dust
And followed,–where the little child had led. And, last of all, the War Lord cast aside His victor’s wreaths, and all his pomp and pride, And followed,–where the little child had led. And, groping through my fears, I bowed my head And followed,–where the little child had led.
BRING US THE LIGHT
I hear a clear voice calling, calling, Calling out of the night,
O, you who live in the Light of Life, Bring us the Light!
We are bound in the chains of darkness, Our eyes received no sight,
O, you who have never been bond or blind, Bring us the Light!
We live amid turmoil and horror,
Where might is the only right,
O, you to whom life is liberty,
Bring us the Light!
We stand in the ashes of ruins,
We are ready to fight the fight,
O, you whose feet are firm on the Rock, Bring us the Light!
You cannot–you shall not forget us,
Out here in the darkest night,
We are drowning men, we are dying men, Bring, O, bring us the Light!
ALL’S WELL!
Is the pathway dark and dreary?
God’s in His heaven!
Are you broken, heart-sick, weary?
God’s in His heaven!
Dreariest roads shall have an ending, Broken hearts are for God’s mending.
All’s well! All’s well!
All’s … well!
Are life’s threads all sorely tangled? God’s in His heaven!
Are the sweet chords strained and jangled? God’s in His heaven!
Tangled threads are for Love’s fingers, Trembling chords make heaven’s sweet singers. All’s well! All’s well!
All’s … well!
Is the burden past your bearing?
God’s in His heaven!
Hopeless?–Friendless?–No one caring? God’s in His heaven!
Burdens shared are light to carry,
Love shall come though long He tarry. All’s well! All’s well!
All’s … well!
Is the light for ever failing?
God’s in His heaven!
Is the faint heart ever quailing?
God’s in His heaven!
God’s strong arms are all around you, In the dark He sought and found you.
All’s well! All’s well!
All’s … well!
Is the future black with sorrow?
God’s in His heaven!
Do you dread each dark to-morrow?
God’s in His heaven!
Nought can come without His knowing. Come what may ’tis His bestowing.
All’s well! All’s well!
All’s … well!
Peace and heaven lie all about us.
God’s in His heaven!
Peace within makes heaven without us. God’s in His heaven!
God’s great love shall fail us never, We are His, and His for ever.
All’s well! All’s well!
All’s … well!
HIS MERCY ENDURETH FOR EVER
Our feet have wandered, wandered far and wide,– _His mercy endureth for ever_!
From that strait path in which the Master died,– _His mercy endureth for ever_!
Low have we fallen from our high estate, Long have we lingered, lingered long and late; _But the tenderness of God
Is from age to age the same,
And His Mercy endureth for ever_!
There is no sin His Love can not forgive;– _His mercy endureth for ever_!
No soul so stained His Love will not receive; _His mercy endureth for ever_!
No load of sorrow but His touch can move, No hedge of thorns that can withstand His Love; _For the tenderness of God
Is from age to age the same,
And His Mercy endureth for ever_!
So we will sing, whatever may betide;– _His mercy endureth for ever_!
Nought but ourselves can keep us from His side;– _His mercy endureth for ever_!
What though no place we win in life’s rough race, Our loss may prove the measure of His grace. _For the tenderness of God
Is from age to age the same,
And His Mercy endureth for ever_!
GOD IS GOOD
I faced a future all unknown,
No opening could I see,
I heard without the night wind moan, The ways were dark to me,–
“I cannot face it all alone
O be Thou near to me!”
I had done sums, and sums, and sums,
Inside my aching head.
I’d tried in vain to pierce the glooms That lay so thick ahead.
But two and two will not make five, Nor will do when I’m dead.
And then I thought of Him who fed
Five thousand hungry men,
With five small casual loaves of bread,– Would he were here again!–
Dear God! hast Thou still miracles
For the troubled sons of men?
He has, He will, He worketh still,
In ways most wonderful.
He drew me from the miry clay,
He filled my cup quite full.
And while my heart can speak I’ll tell His love unspeakable.
“Rest in the Lord!”–I saw it there,
On the tablets of the night.
And, comforted, I dropped my care
Where burdens have no weight.
Then, trustfully, I turned and slept, And woke, and it was light.
God works to-day as He did of old
For the lightening of men’s woes.
His wonders never can be told,
His goodness no man knows,–
His Love, His Power, His Tenderness,– Nor shall do till life’s close.
His kindness is so very great,
His greatness is so good.
He looks upon my low estate,
He gives me daily food.
And nothing is too small for Him,– Yes, truly! God is good.
SOME–AND SOME
Some have much, and some have more,
Some are rich, and some are poor,
Some have little, some have less,
Some have not a cent to bless
Their empty pockets, yet possess
True riches in true happiness.
THE PRINCE OF LIFE
O, Prince of Life, Thy Life hath tuned All life to sweeter, loftier grace!
Life’s common rounds have wider bounds Since Thou hast trod life’s common ways.
O, Heart of Love! Thy Tenderness
Still runs through life’s remotest vein; And lust and greed and soulless creed
Shall never rule the world again.
O Life of Love!–The Good Intent
Of God to man made evident,–
All down the years, despite men’s fears, Thy Power is still omnipotent.
O Life! O Love! O Living Word!–
Rent Vail, revealing God to man,–
Help, Lord! Lest I should crucify,
By thought or deed, Thy Love again.
JUDGMENT DAY
Every day is Judgment Day,
Count on no to-morrow.
He who will not, when he may,
Act to-day, to-day, to-day,
Doth but borrow
Sorrow.
DARKNESS AND LIGHT
There is darkness still, gross darkness, Lord, On this fair earth of Thine.
There are prisoners still in the prison-house, Where never a light doth shine.
There are doors still bolted against Thee, There are faces set like a wall;
And over them all the Shadow of Death Hangs like a pall.
_Do you hear the voices calling,
Out there in the black of the night? Do you hear the sobs of the women,
Who are barred from the blessed light? And the children,–the little children,– Do you hear their pitiful cry?
O brothers, we must seek them,
Or there in the dark they die_!
Spread the Light! Spread the Light!
Till earth’s remotest bounds have heard The glory of the Living Word;
Till those that see not have their sight; Till all the fringes of the night
Are lifted, and the long-closed doors Are wide for ever to the Light.
Spread–the–Light!
_O then shall dawn the golden days, To which true hearts are pressing;
When earth’s discordant strains shall blend– The one true God confessing;
When Christly thought and Christly deed Shall bind each heart and nation,
In one Grand Brotherhood of Men,
And one high consecration_.
INDIA
A land of lights and shadows intervolved, A land of blazing sun and blackest night, A fortress armed, and guarded jealously, With every portal barred against the Light.
A land in thrall to ancient mystic faiths, A land of iron creeds and gruesome deeds, A land of superstitions vast and grim,
And all the noisome growths that Darkness breeds.
Like sunny waves upon an iron-bound coast, The Light beats up against the close-barred doors, And seeks vain entrance, yet beats on and on, In hopeful faith which all defeat ignores.
But–time shall come, when, like a swelling tide, The Word shall leap the barriers, and The Light Shall sweep the land; and Faith and Love and Hope Shall win for Christ this stronghold of the night.
LIVINGSTONE
To lift the sombre fringes of the Night, To open lands long darkened to the Light, To heal grim wounds, to give the blind new sight, Right mightily wrought he.
Forth to the fight he fared,
High things and great he dared, He thought of all men but himself,
Himself he never spared.
He greatly loved–
He greatly lived–
And died right mightily.
Like Him he served, he walked life’s troublous ways, With heart undaunted, and with calm, high face, And gemmed each day with deeds of sweetest grace; Pull lovingly wrought he.
Forth to the fight he fared,
High things and great he dared, In His Master’s might, to spread the Light, Right lovingly wrought he.
He greatly loved–
He greatly lived–
And died right mightily.
Like him he served, he would not turn aside; Nor home nor friends could his true heart divide; He served his Master, and naught else beside, Right faithfully wrought he.
Forth to the fight he fared,
High things and great he dared, In His Master’s might, to spread the Light, Right faithfully wrought he.
He greatly loved–
He greatly lived–
And died right mightily.
He passed like light across the darkened land, And dying, left behind him this command, “The door is open! So let it ever stand!” Full mightily wrought he.
Forth to the fight he fared,
High things and great he dared, In His Master’s might, to spread the Light, Right mightily wrought he.
He greatly loved–
He greatly lived–
And died right mightily.
LIVINGSTONE THE BUILDER
_With a will!
With a will!
With a will and surely!
Without fail,
Drive each nail,
Build we so, securely_!
The Pioneer,–the Undaunted One,
Worn with long journeyings through the Great Dark Land, Rests for a season from his mighty labours, And seeks fresh vigour in a change of toil.
_Labour is sweet,
When hands and hearts are willing,– Who truly works
Is God’s own law fulfilling_.
With his own hands he helps to build a temple, Here, in the wilds, a temple to his God, Rough-hewn and roughly thatched, but still a house Of prayer, a holy place, and consecrate
To Him whose noblest temples are not built With hands, but in the opened hearts of men.
_The Master worked,
With His own hands expressing His sure belief
That therein lay God’s blessing_.
Thus, as he toils, with axe, and nail, and hammer, His heart rejoices,–so the Master worked, And by His lowly toil for ever stamped
True labour with its highest dignity.
_With a will!
With a will!
With a will and surely!
Without fail,
Drive each nail,
Build we so, securely_!
LIVINGSTONE’S SOLILOQUY
“My heart to-day
Is strangely full of home!
How is it
With the dear ones over there?
Five years!
Five long-drawn years!
And one short moment is enough
To alter life’s complexion for eternity! Home! Home! Home!
* * * * *
How is it with you all
At Home?
* * * * *
And you, my dearest one,
Are ever nearer to me than the rest! Your body lies
Beneath the baobab
In far Shapanga;
But your soul is ever nearest
When I need you most.
Where a man’s treasure is
His heart is.
And half my heart is buried there with you, And half works on for Africa.
Home! Home! Home!
* * * * *
Why should such thought of home
Drag at my heart to-day?
Why should I longer roam?
Why should I not go home?
Five years of toilsome wanderings
May claim a rest!
* * * * *
Nay! God knows best!
When He sees well
He’ll take me home and give me well-earned rest. The work is not yet done.
This land of Night
Is not yet fully opened to the Son
And His fair Light.
But–when the work is done–
Ah–then!–how gladly will I go–
Home!–Home–Home!–
To rest!”
KAPIOLANI
Where the great green combers break in thunder on the barrier reefs,– Where, unceasing, sounds the mighty diapason of the deep,– Ringed in bursts of wild wave-laughter, ringed in leagues of flying foam,–
Long lagoons of softest azure, curving beaches white as snow, Lap in sweetness and in beauty all the isles of Owhyhee.
Land more lovely sun ne’er shone on than these isles of Owhyhee, Spendthrift Nature’s wild profusion fashioned them like fairy bowers; Yet behind–below the sweetness,–underneath the passion-flowers, Lurked grim deeds, and things of horror, grisly Deaths, and ceaseless Fears,
Fears and Deaths that walked in Darkness, grisly Deaths and ceaseless Fears.
NOTE.–Kapiolani–pronounced Kah-pee-o-lah-ny, with slight accent on second syllable.
Mauna Loa–Mona Lo-ah.
Kilauea–Kil-o-ee-ah.
Halé-Mau-Mau–Ha-lee-Mah-oo-Mah-oo.
On the slope of Mauna Loa, in the pit of Kilauea, In the lake of molten lava, in the sea of living fire, In the place of Ceaseless Burnings, in her home of Wrath and Terror, Dwelt the dreadful goddess Pélé–Pélé of the Lake of Fire; Pélé of the place of torment, Pélé of the Lake of Fire.
In the dim far-off beginnings, Pélé flung the islands up From the bottom of the ocean, from the darksome underworld; Built them for a house to dwell in, built them for herself alone, So she claimed them and their people, claimed them as her very own, And they feared her, and they worshipped– Pélé, the Remorseless One.
But, at times, when she lay sleeping, underneath the lake of fire, They forgot to do her reverence, they forgot the fiery one; Then in wrath the goddess thundered from the Lake of Ceaseless Burnings,
Flamed and thundered in her anger, till the very skies were red, Poured black ruin on the island, shook it to its rocky bed.
Then in fear the people trembled and bethought them of their sins, And the great high priest of Pélé came like Death down Mauna Loa, Came to soothe the awful goddess, came to choose the sacrifice, Chose the fairest youth or maiden, pointed with a deadly finger, Led them weeping up the mountain, victims to the Lake of Fire.
On the snowy beach of coral, youths and maidens full of laughter, Flower-bedecked and full of laughter, sported gaily in the sun; Up above, the slender palm-trees swung and shivered in the trade-wind, All around them flowers and spices,–red hibiscus, sweet pandanus, And behind, the labouring mountain groaned and growled unceasingly.
“_Sea and sunshine,
Care is moonshine,
All our hearts are light with laughter. We are free
As sun and sea,
What care we for what comes after?”
Bride.
“Life was sweet before Love found her, In his faery bowers.
Life is sweeter,
And completer,
Since he found her,
There, and crowned her
With his fadeless flowers.”
Bridegroom.
“Love sought long before he found her, Ne’er was love like ours!
Long he sought her,
E’er he caught her.
But he found her
There, and bound her
With his fadeless flowers.”
“Gaily sporting,
Pleasure courting,
Nought know we of care or sorrow.
We are free
As sun and sea,
What care we what comes to-morrow_?”
Louder still and louder, Pélé roars within her lake of fire, And the youths and maidens trembling look in fear up Mauna Loa, Dreading sight of that grim figure stalking down the mountain side; For when Pélé claims her victims none the summons may avoid. Pélé calls for whom she chooses–whom she chooses goes,–and dies.
See! He comes! They start in terror. There, along the mountain side, Death comes stalking, slowly, surely,–_Pélé must be satisfied_. Which among them will he summon, with his dreadful pointing finger? All their hearts become as water, all their faces blanch with fear, Deaths they suffer in the waiting, while dread Death draws near.
Now he stands in dreadful menace, seeking with a baleful eye For the sweetest and the fairest–for the meetest sacrifice. “Choose, O choose!”–they cry in terror; “choose your victim and be gone,
For we each die deaths while waiting, till dread Pélé’s choice be known!
Choose your victim, Priest of Pélé, choose your victim and be gone!”
Slowly points the dreadful finger, marks the newly-wedded bride; All the rest, save one, fall from her, as the living from the dead. From the first of time’s beginnings Pélé ne’er has been gainsayed; Pélé chooses whom she chooses, each and all the choice abide, For the common good and safety,–_Pélé must be satisfied_!
Still the mountain reels and shudders, still the awful thunders peal, Like a snake the ruthless finger holds them all in terror still; One is there whose life is broken, parted from his chosen bride, But the threatening finger, heedless of the lives it may divide, Lights upon a tiny maiden,–_Pélé must be satisfied_!
Slow, the grim high-priest of Pélé turns to climb the mountain side; Slow, the victims turn and follow,–_Pélé must be satisfied_. And the rest shrink, dumb and helpless, daring not to lift an eye, And beyond, the labouring mountain cracks and belches living fires, Till the island reels and shudders at dread Pélé’s agonies.
But a greater one than Pélé walked the mountain side that day;– To them, climbing, dumb and dim-eyed–like a flash of heavenly flame, Swift and bright as saving angel, fair Kapiolani came, Swiftly as a saving angel, gleaming like a heavenly flame, Thirsting like a sword for battle, fair Kapiolani came.
Radiant with the faith of martyrs, all aglow with new-born zeal, Burning to release the people from the bondage and the thrall, From the deadly thrall of Pélé, from the ever-threatening doom, From the everlasting menace, from the awful lake of fire, Like a bright avenging angel fair Kapiolani came!
“Hear me now, you priest of Pélé, and ye men of Owhyhee! Hearken! ye who cringe and tremble, at the sound of Kilauea, Fearful of the wrath of Pélé, fearful of the lake of fire!– Priest, I say there is no Pélé! Pélé is not–never was! Pélé lives but in your legends–there is only one true God!”
“Curséd, thrice accurséd, you who thus great Pélé do defy, Here, upon her sacred mountain, of a surety you shall die! Pélé, mighty Pélé, Vengeance! Strike her with thy dreadful doom! So let every scoffer perish!–Pélé! Pélé! Pélé! come!” And Kapiolani answered–“Pélé! Pélé! Pélé! come!”
Loud the mountain roared and thundered; shuddered all who heard and saw,
Dauntless stood Kapiolani, dauntless with her faithful few. “Come!” she cried again. “Come, Pélé! Smite me with thy dreadful doom! I am waiting, mighty Pélé!–Pélé! Pélé! Pélé! come!” And the mountain roared and thundered;–but the goddess did not come.
“Hearken, Priest! You have deceived us. All your life has been a lie, Black your heart is, red your hands are, with the blood of those who die.
All these years you have misled us with your awful threats of doom. Now it ends! I do defy you, and your goddess I defy. Pélé, is not, never has been. All your worship is a lie.
“I will climb your sacred mountain. I will dare your lake of fire. I will eat your sacred berries. I will dare your goddess there, There and then to wreak her vengeance, then and there to come in fire, And with awful burnings end me, now and for eternity; But if Pélé does not end me, then her worship ends this day.”
Then the great high priest of Pélé turned to fiery Kilauea. “Come!” he said, “the goddess calls you!”–and they climbed the mountain side,
Up the slopes of Mauna Loa, to the hell of Kilauea, With the bright blue sky above them, with the blazing sun above them, While the mountain shook beneath them, and its head was wrapped in fire.
Fearful, hopeful, all the people crept along the shaking path, Hardly breathing at their daring, thus to brave dread Pélé’s wrath, Bending low lest she should see them, breathing soft lest she should hear,
Certain that Kapiolani would be sacrificed that day, To the vengeance of the goddess, to the anger of Pélé.
“_As little child
On mother’s breast,
O rest, my heart,
Have rest!
Who rests on Him
Is surely blest.
So rest, my heart,
Have rest_!
_As warrior bold
His foes among,
Be strong, my heart,
Be strong!
Who rests on Him
Shall ne’er go wrong.
Be strong, my heart,
Be strong_!”
Thus, Kapiolani, dauntless, singing softly as she went, With a face as calm and fearless as a child on pleasure bent, Climbed the side of Mauna Loa, to the dreadful lake of fire, While the mountain shook and thundered, while the people blanched and shuddered,
Climbed to Halé-Mau-Mau,–to the dreadful lake of fire.
All the people waited trembling, stood afar off pale and trembling, While Kapiolani, fearless, climbed up to the lake of fire, With the fiery glow all round her, with a heavenly light about her. Shining with a radiance brighter than since time began had shone From the Lake of Ceaseless Burnings, from the dreadful lake of fire.
“Here,” she cried, “I pluck your berries, Pélé,–and I give you none! See! I eat your sacred berries, Pélé,–and I give you none! Pélé, here I break your tabus! Come, with all your dreadful fires! Burn me, Pélé! I defy you!–Pélé! Pélé! Pélé! come!” Come now, Pélé, or for ever own that you are overcome!
“Pélé comes not. Is she sleeping? Is she wandering to-day? Is she busy with her burnings? Has the goddess nought to say? Hear me, friends!–There is no Pélé! One true God alone there is. His, this mountain! His, these burnings! You, and I, and all things,–His!
Goodness, Mercy, Loving-Kindness, Life Eternal–all are His!
“From this day, let no man tremble, when he feels the mountain shake! From this day, no man or maiden shall be killed for Pélé’s sake! From this day, we break the thraldom of the dreadful lake of fire. From this day, we pass for ever from the scourge of Pélé’s rod.– From this day, Thou, Lord Jehovah, be our one and only God!”
THEY COME!
From North and South, and East and West, They come!
The sorely tried, the much oppressed, Their Faith and Love to manifest,
They come!
They come to tell of work well done, They come to tell of kingdoms won,
To worship at the Great White Throne, They come!
In a noble consecration,
With a sound of jubilation.
They come! They come!
Through tribulations and distress,
They come!
Through perils great and bitterness, Through persecutions pitiless,
They come!
They come by paths the martyrs trod, They come from underneath the rod,
Climbing through darkness up to God, They come!
Out of mighty tribulation,
With a sound of jubilation,
They come! They come!
From every land beneath the sun,
They come!
To tell of mighty victories won;
Unto the Father through the Son,
They come!
They come–the victors in the fight,
They come–the blind restored to sight, From deepest Darkness into Light;
They come!
In a holy exaltation,
With a sound of jubilation,
They come! They come!
PROCESSIONALS
NORTH
We come from the gloom of the shadowy trail Out away on the fringe of the Night,
Where no man could tell, when the darkness fell, If his eyes would behold the light.
To–the–Night,–
To–the–Night,–
To the darkness and the sorrow of the Night,– Came–the–Light,
Came–the–Light,
Came the Wonder and the Glory of the Light.
There are wanderers still, without ever a guide, Out there on the fringe of the Night,
They are bond and blind,–to their darkness resigned, With never a wish for the Light.
To–their–Night,–
To–their–Night,–
To the darkness and the sorrow of their Night, Take–the–Light!
Take–the–Light!
Take the Wonder and the Glory of the Light!
SOUTH
We come from the land of the blazing sun, From the land that was blacker than night,– From the white-hot sand of the Great Dark Land, Where Might was the only Right.
To–the–Night,–
To–the–Night,–
To the darkness and the sorrow of the Night, Came–the–Light,
Came–the–Light,
Came the Wonder and the Glory of the Light.
There are sorrows still, there is darkness still, There are still gross wrongs to set right; There are grim black stains, there are peoples in chains, To be loosed from the grip of the Night. To–their–Night,–
To–their–Night,–
To the darkness and the sorrow of their Night, Take–the–Light!
Take–the–Light!
Take the Wonder and the Glory of the Light!
EAST
We come from the East, from the glowing East, Where the Past, with its hand of ice,
Still reaches across through its ages of loss, And still holds the land like a vice.
To–the–Night,–
To–the–Night,–
To the darkness and the sorrow of the Night,– Came–the–Light,
Came–the–Light,
Came the Wonder and the Glory of the Light.
O, the sorrowful ones of the caste-bound lands, How they long for the wider way!
How they sigh in the gloom of their close-barred tomb For the Light of the Coming Day!
To–their–Night,–
To–their–Night,–
To the darkness and the sorrow of their Night, Take–the–Light,
Take–the–Light!
Take the Wonder and the Glory of the Light!
WEST
We come from the Isles, from the Western Isles, From the isles of the sunny seas,–
Where the smiles and the wiles, with which Nature beguiles, Are but shrouds for her tragedies.
To–the–Night,–
To–the–Night,–
To the darkness and the sorrow of the Night,– Came–the–Light,
Came–the–Light,
Came the Wonder and the Glory of the Light.
There is Darkness more deadly than Death itself, There is Blindness beyond that of sight. There are souls fast bound in the depths profound Of unconscious and heedless Night.
To–their–Night,–
To–their–Night,–
To the darkness and the sorrow of their Night, Take–the–Light!
Take–the–Light!
Take the Wonder and the Glory of the Light!
FAITH
Lord, give me faith!–to live from day to day, With tranquil heart to do my simple part, And, with my hand in Thine, just go Thy way.
Lord, give me faith!–to trust, if not to know; With quiet mind in all things Thee to find, And, child-like, go where Thou wouldst have me go.
Lord, give me faith!–to leave it all to Thee, The future is Thy gift, I would not lift The vail Thy Love has hung ‘twixt it and me.
“I WILL!”
Say once again Thy sweet “I will!”
In answer to my prayers.
“Lord, if Thou wilt!”–
–“I will!
Rise up above thy cares!”
A LITTLE TE DEUM OF THE COMMONPLACE
A FRAGMENT
_With hearts responsive
And enfranchised eyes,
We thank Thee, Lord,–_
For all things beautiful, and good, and true; For things that seemed not good yet turned to good; For all the sweet compulsions of Thy will That chased, and tried, and wrought us to Thy shape; For things unnumbered that we take of right, And value first when first they are withheld; For light and air; sweet sense of sound and smell; For ears to hear the heavenly harmonies; For eyes to see the unseen in the seen;
For vision of The Worker in the work; For hearts to apprehend Thee everywhere; _We thank Thee, Lord_!
For all the wonders of this wondrous world;– The pure pearl splendours of the coming day, The breaking east,–the rosy flush,–the Dawn,– For that bright gem in morning’s coronal, That one lone star that gleams above the glow; For that high glory of the impartial sun,– The golden noonings big with promised life; The matchless pageant of the evening skies. The wide-flung gates,–the gleams of Paradise,– Supremest visions of Thine artistry;
The sweet, soft gloaming, and the friendly stars; The vesper stillness, and the creeping shades; The moon’s pale majesty; the pulsing dome, Wherein we feel Thy great heart throbbing near; For sweet laborious days and restful nights; For work to do, and strength to do the work; _We thank Thee, Lord_!
For those first tiny, prayerful-folded hands That pierce the winter’s crust, and softly bring Life out of death, the endless mystery;– For all the first sweet flushings of the Spring; The greening earth, the tender heavenly blue; The rich brown furrows gaping for the seed; For all Thy grace in bursting bud and leaf,– The bridal sweetness of the orchard trees, Rose-tender in their coming fruitfulness; The fragrant snow-drifts flung upon the breeze; The grace and glory of the fruitless flowers, Ambrosial beauty their reward and ours;
For hedgerows sweet with hawthorn and wildrose; For meadows spread with gold and gemmed with stars; For every tint of every tiniest flower;
For every daisy smiling to the sun; For every bird that builds in joyous hope; For every lamb that frisks beside its dam; For every leaf that rustles in the wind; For spiring poplar, and for spreading oak; For queenly birch, and lofty swaying elm, For the great cedar’s benedictory grace; For earth’s ten thousand fragrant incenses,– Sweet altar-gifts from leaf and fruit and flower; For every wondrous thing that greens and grows; For wide-spread cornlands,–billowing golden seas; For rippling stream, and white-laced waterfall; For purpling mountains; lakes like silver shields; For white-piled clouds that float against the blue; For tender green of far-off upland slopes; For fringing forests and far-gleaming spires; For those white peaks, serene and grand and still; For that deep sea–a shallow to Thy love; For round green hills, earth’s full benignant breasts; For sun-chased shadows flitting o’er the plain; For gleam and gloom; for all life’s counter-change; For hope that quickens under darkening skies; For all we see; for all that underlies,– _We thank Thee, Lord_!
For that sweet impulse of the coming Spring, For ripening Summer, and the harvesting; For all the rich Autumnal glories spread,– The flaming pageant of the ripening woods; The fiery gorse, the heather-purpled hills; The rustling leaves that fly before the wind. And lie below the hedgerows whispering;
For meadows silver-white with hoary dew; For sheer delight of tasting once again
That first crisp breath of winter in the air; The pictured pane; the new white world without; The sparkling hedgerow’s witchery of lace; The soft white flakes that fold the sleeping earth; The cold without, the cheerier warmth within; For red-heart roses in the winter snows; For all the flower and fruit of Christmas-tide; For all the glowing heart of Christmas-tide; _We thank Thee, Lord_!
For all Thy ministries,–
For morning mist, and gently-falling dew; For summer rains, for winter ice and snow; For whispering wind and purifying storm; For the reft clouds that show the tender blue; For the forked flash and long tumultuous roll; For mighty rains that wash the dim earth clean; For the sweet promise of the seven-fold bow; For the soft sunshine, and the still calm night; For dimpled laughter of soft summer seas; For latticed splendour of the sea-borne moon; For gleaming sands, and granite-frontled cliffs; For flying spume, and waves that whip the skies; For rushing gale, and for the great glad calm; For Might so mighty, and for Love so true, With equal mind,
_We thank Thee, Lord_!
For maiden sweetness, and for strength of men; For love’s pure madness and its high estate; For parentage–man’s nearest reach to Thee; For kinship, sonship, friendship, brotherhood Of men–one Father–one great family;
For glimpses of the greater in the less; For touch of Thee in wife and child and friend; For noble self-denying motherhood;
For saintly maiden lives of rare perfume; For little pattering feet and crooning songs; For children’s laughter, and sweet wells of truth; For sweet child-faces and the sweet wise tongues; For childhood’s faith that lifts us near to Thee And bows us with our own disparity;
For childhood’s sweet unconscious beauty sleep; For all that childhood teaches us of Thee; _We thank Thee, Lord_!
For doubts that led us to the larger trust; For ills to conquer; for the love that fights; For that strong faith that vanquished axe and flame And gave us Freedom for our heritage;
For clouds and darkness, and the still, small voice; For sorrows bearing fruit of nobler life; For those sore strokes that broke us at Thy feet; For peace in strife; for gain in seeming loss; For every loss that wrought the greater gain; For that sweet juice from bitterness out-pressed; For all this sweet, strange paradox of life; _We thank Thee, Lord_!
For friends above; for friends still left below; For the rare links invisible between;
For Thine unsearchable greatness; for the vails Between us and the things we may not know; For those high times when hearts take wing and rise And float secure above earth’s mysteries; For that wide, open avenue of prayer,
All radiant with Thy glorious promises; For sweet hearts tuned to noblest charity; For great hearts toiling in the outer dark; For friendly hands stretched out in time of need; For every gracious thought and word and deed; _We thank Thee, Lord_!
For songbird answering song on topmost bough; For myriad twitterings of the simpler folk; For that sweet lark that carols up the sky; For that low fluting on the summer night; For distant bells that tremble on the wind; For great round organ tones that rise and fall, Entwined with earthly voices tuned to heaven, And bear our hearts above the high-arched roof; For Thy great voice that dominates the whole, And shakes the heavens, and silences the earth; For hearts alive to earth’s sweet minstrelsies; For souls attuned to heavenly harmonies; For apprehension, and for ears to hear,– _We thank Thee, Lord_!
For that supremest token of Thy Love,– Thyself made manifest in human flesh;
For that pure life beneath the Syrian sky– The humble toil, the sweat, the bench, the saw, The nails well-driven, and the work well-done; For all its vast expansions; for the stress Of those three mighty years;
For all He bore of our humanity;
His hunger, thirst, His homelessness and want, His weariness that longed for well-earned rest; For labour’s high ennoblement through Him, Who laboured with His hands for daily bread; For Lazarus, Mary, Martha, Magdalene,
For Nazareth and Bethany;–not least For that dark hour in lone Gethsemane;
For that high cross upraised on Calvary; The broken seals,–the rolled-back stone–The Way, For ever opened through His life in death; For that brief glimpse vouchsafed within the vail; For all His gracious life; and for His Death, With low-bowed heads and hearts impassionate, _We thank Thee, Lord_!
For all life’s beauties, and their beauteous growth; For Nature’s laws and Thy rich providence; For all Thy perfect processes of life;
For the minute perfection of Thy work, Seen and unseen, in each remotest part;
For faith, and works, and gentle charity; For all that makes for quiet in the world; For all that lifts man from his common rut; For all that knits the silken bond of peace; For all that lifts the fringes of the night, And lights the darkened corners of the earth; For every broken gate and sundered bar;
For every wide-flung window of the soul; For that Thou bearest all that Thou hast made; _We thank Thee, Lord_!
For perfect childlike confidence in Thee; For childlike glimpses of the life to be; For trust akin to my child’s trust in me; For hearts at rest through confidence in Thee; For hearts triumphant in perpetual hope; For hope victorious through past hopes fulfilled; For mightier hopes born of the things we know; For faith born of the things we may not know; For hope of powers increased ten thousand fold; For that last hope of likeness to Thyself, When hope shall end in glorious certainty; –_With quickened hearts
That find Thee everywhere,
We thank Thee, Lord_!
POLICEMAN X
IF HE WOULD BUT DARE
I stood, unseen, within a sumptous room, Where one clothed all in white sat silently. So sweet his presence that a pure soft light Rayed from him, and I saw–most wondrous sight!– The Love of God shrined in the flesh once more, And glowing softly like a misted sun.
His back was towards me. Had I seen his face Methought I must have fallen. I was wrong. The door flung wide. With hasty step
Came one in royal robes and all the pride And pomp of majesty, and on his head
A helmet with an eagle poised for flight. He stood amazed at sight of him in white, His lips apart in haughty questioning.
But no words came. Breathless, he raised his hand And gave salute as to a mightier lord,
And doffed his helm, and stood. And in his eyes I saw The reflex glory of his Master’s face.
The Master spoke. His voice so soft and sweet Thrilled my heart’s core and shook me where I stood,– “_Time runs apace. The New Time is at hand. Shall it be Peace or War? It rests with_ THEE.” In dumb amaze the other shook his head.
“_Thy brother of the North has cast his lot For peace. Alone he cannot compass it. Shall it be Peace or War? It rests with_ THEE.” Again the other shook his head amazed,
But never swerved a hair’s breadth in his gaze. “_Shall it be Peace or War? Join hands with him, Thy Northern brother, with the Western Isles, And with their brethren of the Further West, And Peace shall reign to Earth’s remotest bound_.” And still the other shook his head amazed. “_Shall it be Peace or War? Millions of lives Are in thy hand, women and men and those My little ones. Their souls are mine. Their lives Are in thy hand. Of thee I shall require them. Shall it be Peace or War_?”
* * * * *
“I am but one,”
The other answered with reluctant tongue. “_Thou art_ THE _one and so I come to thee. For Peace or War the scales are in thy hand. As thou decidest now, so shall it be.
But,–as thou sayest now, so be it With thee–then.
Shall it be Peace or War? Nay–look_!–” And at the word–where stood the wall–a space; And at their feet, like mighty map unrolled,– The kingdoms of the earth, and every kingdom Groaned with the burden of its armour-plate. And the weight grew till man was crushed beneath, And lost his manhood and became a cog
To roll along the great machine of war. And, as he watched, the War-Lord’s eyes flamed fire, His nostrils panted like a mettled steed’s. This was the game of games he knew and loved, And every fibre of his soul was knit
To see what passed.
Then,–in a sun-white land,
Where a great sea poured out through narrow gates To meet a greater,–came the clang of arms, And drew the nations like a tocsin peal, Till all the sun-white sands ran red, and earth Sweat blood, and writhed in fiery ashes, and Grew sick with all the reek and stench of war, And heaven drew back behind the battle-clouds. And ever, through the clamour of the strife, I heard the ceaseless wailing of a child, And the sobbing, sobbing, sobbing, endless Sobbing of a reft and broken woman;–
And the hoarse whisper of the War-Lord’s voice,– “Britain fights once again for Barbary
Lest others occupy to her undoing. And Italy and Greece and Turkey join,
To beat back France and Spain.”
Again I saw,–
Where legions marched and wound ‘mid snowy peaks, And came upon a smiling vine-clad land,
And filled it with the reek and stench of war. The hoarse voice spoke,–
“The provinces she stole
And lost, Austria takes back.”
Again I saw,–
Where white-capped hosts crept swiftly to the straits Twixt old and new, and drenched the land with blood, And filled it with the reek and stench of war. The War-Lord spoke,–
“Despite his love of peace,
Our brother of the North has seized his chance, And got his heart’s desire.”
Again I saw,–
Where legions poured through the eternal snows, And legions swept o’er every sea to meet Their long-expected onslaught, and the dead Were piled in mountains, and the snows ran red. The War-Lord spoke,–
“Up, Britain, up! Strike home!
Or drop your rod of Empire in the dust– One of you dies this day.”
Again I saw,–
Beneath us, legions swarming to the West, Devouring kingdoms till they reached the sea, And filling all the lands with blood and fire. The War-Lord gazed, with eyes that blazed and flamed, And panted like a soul in torment,–“Mine! All these are mine!”
“_Thine, sayest thou?–Thine now,
When thou shalt stand before me–then, I shall require them of thee_.”
–Thus the voice
Of Him who sat and gazed with sorrowing face, While all the earth beneath us reeked of war, And heaven grew dim behind the battle-clouds. And ever, through the clamour of the strife, I heard the ceaseless wailing of a child, And the sobbing, sobbing, sobbing, endless Sobbing of a reft and broken woman.
“_Shall it be Peace or War_?”
A two-edged sword
Could cut no sharper than the gentle voice Of Him who bowed with sorrow at the sight Of man destroying man for sake of gain.
I waited, breathless, for the warrior’s word. But no word came. His heart was with his men. “_Shall it be Peace or War? Look yet again_!” And at their feet, like mighty map unrolled, Lay all the kingdoms of the earth–at peace. The glad earth smiled beneath a smiling heaven, And brought forth fruit for all her children’s needs. The desert lands had blossomed, and the earth Was large enough for all. Her voice came up, A softly-rounded murmur of content,
Like bees that labour gladly on the comb. The reign of Peace,–and yet an army lay Couchant and watchful, ready for the strife If strife need be,–the strife of quelling strife,– An army culled in part from all the lands. Owning no master but the public weal,
And prompt to quench the first red spark of war. Even as we watched, a frontier turmoil rose, And therewith rose the army, and the fire Died out while scarce begun. The smoke of it Was scarcely seen, the noise scarce heard; for all The lands, sore-spent with war, had welcomed Peace, And bowed to mightier forces than their own; Men cast aside their armour and their arms, And lived men’s lives and were no more machines. “_Wars shall there be, indeed, till that last war That shall wage war on War and sweep the earth Of all war-wagers and of all mankind_.” So spake the voice and ceased. And still we gazed,– A great white building, on its topmost tower A great white flag, proclaimed a World’s Tribunal For the righting of the nations’ wrongs. And that great army answered its behests And owned allegiance to no other head.
Peace reigned triumphant. On the quiet air I heard the merry laughter of the child, And the great sigh of gratitude that rose From all the mother-hearts of all the world. “_Shall it be Peace or War_?”–
Once more the voice,–
“_To one man is it given to decide_, THOU ART THE MAN! _The scales are in_ THY _hand. Think well, and say,–Shall it be Peace or War? As thou, shalt say so shall it be with thee_.” But, ere the answer came, all vanished like A scrap of paper in a fire of coals.
Then, with a crackling peal, the thick black vail That hangs before the face of men was rent, And in the instant lightning flash I saw,–
A chamber hung with black and heaped with flowers, Where candles tall flashed white on watchers’ swords. High on a high-raised bier lay one at rest– Crosses and orders on his quiet breast,
Head proudly cushioned on his country’s flag, Hands calmly folded on his helmet’s crest, His back to earth, his mute face turned to heaven,– Answering the summons of his Over-Lord.
I strained my eyes upon his face to learn Thereon his answer. But the dark vail dropped, And left me wondering what his word had been. Had I but read his face I should have known Who lay there.–Man, like other men? Or one Who grasped the greater things, and by his will Brought Peace on Earth and drew Earth nearer Heaven. The bells beat softly on the midnight air Proclaiming the New Time? Shall it be Peace? A voice within me cried and would not cease, “_One man could do it if he would but dare_.”
NOTE.–This was written in 1898, at the time of the Tzar’s Rescript to the Powers suggesting a Peace Conference with a view to the lightening of the ever-growing burden of arms.
The possibilities have changed their faces, but at heart the great problem remains much the same. And above all, the great fact remains that if Great Britain, Germany, Russia and the United States joined hands for a World Peace, they could ensure it. Germany is still mistrustful. On her lies a great responsibility.
YOUR PLACE
Is your place a small place?
Tend it with care!–
He set you there.
Is your place a large place?
Guard it with care!–
He set you there.
Whatever your place, it is
Not yours alone, but His
Who set you there.
IN NARROW WAYS
Some lives are set in narrow ways,
By Love’s wise tenderness.
They seem to suffer all their days
Life’s direst storm and stress.
But God shall raise them up at length, His purposes are sure,
He for their weakness shall give strength, For every ill a cure.
SHUT WINDOWS
(_For the Braille Magazine_)
When the outer eye grows dim,
Turns the inner eye to Him,
Who makes darkness light.
Fairer visions you may see,
Live in nobler company,
And in larger liberty,
Than the men of sight.
He sometimes shuts the windows but to open hidden doors, Where all who will may wander bold and free, For His house has many mansions, and the mansions many floors, And every room is free to you and me.
PROPS
Earthly props are useless,
On Thy grace I fall;
Earthly strength is weakness,
Father, on Thee I call,–
For comfort, strength, and guidance, O, give me all!
BED-ROCK
I have been tried,
Tried in the fire,
And I say this,
As the result of dire distress,
And tribulation sore–
That a man’s happiness doth not consist Of that he hath, but of the faith
And trust in God’s great love
These bring him to.
Nought else is worth consideration. For the peace a man may find
In perfect trust in God
Outweighs all else, and is
The only possible foundation
For true happiness.
AFTER WORK
Lord, when Thou seest that my work is done, Let me not linger on,
With failing powers,
Adown the weary hours,–
A workless worker in a world of work. But, with a word,
Just bid me home,
And I will come
Right gladly,–
Yea, right gladly
Will I come.
KAPIOLANI IN RAROTONGAN
Mr. F.W. Christian, of the Polynesian Society of New Zealand, whose personal acquaintance with the South Sea Islands and their dialects is unique, is translating “Kapiolani” into Rarotongan. He writes–
“I enclose a four-line stanza which, translating your first line–‘Where the great green combers break,’ etc.–strictly according to East Polynesian ballad-metres, ushers in your great theme.
“‘Kapiolani’ will, I trust, God willing, become a household classic in many of the Eastern Islands, such as Rapa and Manahiki, where the Rarotongan language runs current as a sort of Lingua Franca or Sacred Esperanto, thanks to the magnificent translation of the Bible by the great missionary, John Williams. I have translated the poem most carefully, and as accurately as possible into the peculiar metre and cast of expression which an Eastern Polynesian ‘Atu-Pe’e, or Versifier, would immediately grasp as idiomatic. The first lines run thus:–“
Tei te ngai mangúngú–anga no te an ngaru roro’a Ki rúnga no te púnga matoato’a
Ngàru kerekere, ngáru mamaáta e tini Ki rúnga no te ‘Akau-Pipíni.