Above the drowned ages
A wind of wooing blows: --
The red rose woos the lotos,
The lotos woos the rose . . .
The lotos conquered Egypt.
The rose was loved in Rome.
Great India crowned the lotos:
(Britain the rose's home).
Old China crowned the lotos,
They crowned it in Japan.
But Christendom adored the rose
Ere Christendom began . . .
The lotos speaks of slumber:
The rose is as a dart.
The lotos is Nirvana:
The rose is Mary's heart.
The rose is deathless, restless,
The
splendor of our pain:
The flush and fire of labor
That builds, not all in vain. . . .
The
genius of the lotos
Shall heal earth's too-much fret.
The rose, in blinding glory,
Shall waken Asia yet.
Hail to their loves, ye peoples!
Behold, a world-wind blows,
That aids the ivory lotos
To wed the red red rose!
King Arthur's Men Have Come Again
[Written while a field-worker in the Anti-Saloon League of Illinois.]
King Arthur's men have come again.
They
challenge everywhere
The foes of Christ's Eternal Church.
Her
incense crowns the air.
The
heathenknighthood cower and curse
To hear the bugles ring,
BUT SPEARS ARE SET, THE CHARGE IS ON,
WISE ARTHUR SHALL BE KING!
And Cromwell's men have come again,
I meet them in the street.
Stern but in this -- no way of thorns
Shall snare the children's feet.
The reveling foemen wreak but waste,
A sodden
poisonous band.
FIERCE CROMWELL BUILDS THE FLOWER-BRIGHT TOWNS,
AND A MORE SUNLIT LAND!
And Lincoln's men have come again.
Up from the South he flayed,
The grandsons of his foes arise
In his own cause arrayed.
They rise for freedom and clean laws
High laws, that shall endure.
OUR GOD ESTABLISHES HIS ARM
AND MAKES THE BATTLE SURE!
Foreign Missions in Battle Array
An endless line of
splendor,
These troops with heaven for home,
With creeds they go from Scotland,
With
incense go from Rome.
These, in the name of Jesus,
Against the dark gods stand,
They gird the earth with valor,
They heed their King's command.
Onward the line advances,
Shaking the hills with power,
Slaying the
hidden demons,
The lions that devour.
No
bloodshed in the wrestling, --
But souls new-born arise --
The nations growing kinder,
The child-hearts growing wise.
What is the final ending?
The issue, can we know?
Will Christ outlive Mohammed?
Will Kali's altar go?
This is our faith
tremendous, --
Our wild hope, who shall scorn, --
That in the name of Jesus
The world shall be reborn!
Star of My Heart
Star of my heart, I follow from afar.
Sweet Love on high, lead on where shepherds are,
Where Time is not, and only dreamers are.
Star from of old, the Magi-Kings are dead
And a foolish Saxon seeks the manger-bed.
O lead me to Jehovah's child
Across this dreamland lone and wild,
Then will I speak this prayer unsaid,
And kiss his little haloed head --
"My star and I, we love thee, little child."
Except the Christ be born again to-night
In dreams of all men, saints and sons of shame,
The world will never see his kingdom bright.
Stars of all hearts, lead
onward thro' the night
Past death-black deserts, doubts without a name,
Past hills of pain and mountains of new sin
To that far sky where
mystic births begin,
Where dreaming ears the angel-song shall win.
Our Christmas shall be rare at dawning there,
And each shall find his brother fair,
Like a little child within:
All hearts of the earth shall find new birth
And wake, no more to sin.
Look You, I'll Go Pray
Look you, I'll go pray,
My shame is crying,
My soul is gray and faint,
My faith is dying.
Look you, I'll go pray --
"Sweet Mary, make me clean,
Thou rainstorm of the soul,
Thou wine from worlds unseen."
At Mass
No doubt to-morrow I will hide
My face from you, my King.
Let me
rejoice this Sunday noon,
And kneel while gray priests sing.
It is not
wisdom to forget.
But since it is my fate
Fill thou my soul with
hidden wine
To make this white hour great.
My God, my God, this
marvelous hour
I am your son I know.
Once in a thousand days your voice
Has laid
temptation low.
Heart of God
O great heart of God,
Once vague and lost to me,
Why do I throb with your throb to-night,
In this land, eternity?
O little heart of God,
Sweet intruding stranger,
You are laughing in my human breast,
A Christ-child in a manger.
Heart, dear heart of God,
Beside you now I kneel,
Strong heart of faith. O heart not mine,
Where God has set His seal.
Wild thundering heart of God
Out of my doubt I come,
And my foolish feet with prophets' feet,
March with the prophets' drum.
The Empty Boats
Why do I see these empty boats, sailing on airy seas?
One
haunted me the whole night long, swaying with every breeze,
Returning always near the eaves, or by the skylight glass:
There it will wait me many weeks, and then, at last, will pass.
Each soul is
haunted by a ship in which that soul might ride
And climb the
glorious mysteries of Heaven's silent tide
In voyages that change the very metes and bounds of Fate --
O empty boats, we all refuse, that by our windows wait!
With a Bouquet of Twelve Roses
I saw Lord Buddha
towering by my gate
Saying: "Once more, good youth, I stand and wait."
Saying: "I bring you my fair Law of Peace
And from your withering
passion full release;
Release from that white hand that stabbed you so.
The road is
calling. With the wind you go,
Forgetting her
imperiousdisdain --
Quenching all memory in the sun and rain."
"Excellent Lord, I come. But first," I said,
"Grant that I bring her these twelve roses red.
Yea, twelve flower kisses for her rose-leaf mouth,
And then indeed I go in bitter drouth
To that far
valley where your river flows
In Peace, that once I found in every rose."
St. Francis of Assisi
Would I might wake St. Francis in you all,
Brother of birds and trees, God's Troubadour,
Blinded with
weeping for the sad and poor;
Our
wealthundone, all
strict Franciscan men,
Come, let us chant the canticle again
Of mother earth and the
enduring sun.
God make each soul the
lonely leper's slave;
God make us saints, and brave.
Buddha
Would that by Hindu magic we became
Dark monks of jeweled India long ago,
Sitting at Prince Siddartha's feet to know
The
foolishness of gold and love and station,
The
gospel of the Great Renunciation,
The
ragged cloak, the staff, the rain and sun,
The beggar's life, with far Nirvana gleaming:
Lord, make us Buddhas, dreaming.
A Prayer to All the Dead Among Mine Own People
Are these your presences, my clan from Heaven?
Are these your hands upon my wounded soul?
Mine own, mine own, blood of my blood be with me,
Fly by my path till you have made me whole!
To Reformers in Despair
'Tis not too late to build our young land right,
Cleaner than Holland, courtlier than Japan,
Devout like early Rome, with hearths like hers,
Hearths that will recreate the breed called man.
Why I Voted the Socialist Ticket
I am
unjust, but I can
strive for justice.
My life's
unkind, but I can vote for kindness.
I, the unloving, say life should be lovely.
I, that am blind, cry out against my blindness.
Man is a curious brute -- he pets his fancies --
Fighting mankind, to win sweet
luxury.