Bees in Amber | Page 6

_I_ that stood there, all consenting??_I_--at whose feet the young men's clothes were laid??Was it my will that wrought that hot tormenting??My heart that boasted over Stephen, dead?
Yes, it was I. And sore to me the telling.?Yes, it was I. And thought of it has been?God's potent spur my whole soul's might compelling?These outer darknesses for Him to win.
PAUL
Bond-slave to Christ, and in my bonds rejoicing,?Earmarked to Him I counted less than nought;?His man henceforward, eager to be voicing?That wondrous Love which Saul the Roman sought.
Sought him and found him, working bitter sorrow;?Found him and claimed him, chose him for his own;?Bound him in darkness, till the glorious morrow?Unsealed his eyes to that he had not known.
WAKENING
This mortal dies,--?But, in the moment when the light fails here,?The darkness opens, and the vision clear?Breaks on his eyes.?The vail is rent,--?On his enraptured gaze heaven's glory breaks,?He was asleep, and in that moment wakes.
MACEDONIA, 1903
Devils' work!?Devils' work, my masters!
Britain, your hands are red!?You may close your heart, but you cannot shirk?This terrible fact,--We--kept--the--Turk.?His day was past and we knew his work,?But he played our game, so we kept the Turk,?For our own sake's sake we kept the Turk.
Britain, your hands are red!
Red are the walls and the ways,
And--Britain, your hands are red!?There is blood on the hearth, and blood in the well,?And the whole fair land is a red, red hell,--
Britain, your hands are red!
"Come over! Come over and help us!"?We are deaf to the ancient cry.?--"For the sake of our women and children!"?And Britain stands quietly by.
O Britain, your hands are red!
Cleanse your hands, Britain!?Yea, cleanse them in blood if it must be!?For blood that is shed in the cause of right?Has power, as of old, to wash souls white.
Cleanse your hands, Britain!
O for the fiery grace of old,--?The heart and the masterful hand!?But grace grows dim and the fire grows cold,?We are heavy with greed and lust and gold,?And life creeps low in the land.
Break your bonds, Britain!?Stand up once again for the right!?We have stained our hands in the times that are past,?Before God, we would wash them white.
_For the Nations are in the proving;?Each day is Judgment Day;?And the peoples He finds wanting?Shall pass--by the winding way_.
HEARTS IN EXILE
O Exiled Hearts--for you, for you--?Love still can find the way!?Hear the voices of the women on the road!?O Shadowed Lives--for you, for you--?Hope hath not lost her ray!?Hear the laughter of the children on the road!?O Gloomy Night--for you, for you--?Dawn tells of coming day!?Hear the clink of breaking fetters on the road!?O Might sans Right--for you, for you--?The feet of crumbling clay!?Hear the slow, sure tread of Freedom on the road!
WANDERED
The wind blows shrill along the hill,?--Black is the night and cold--?The sky hangs low with its weight of snow,?And the drifts are deep on the wold.?But what care I for wind or snow??And what care I for the cold?
_Oh ... where is my lamb--?My one ewe lamb--?That strayed from the fold_?
The beasts are safely gathered in,?--Black is the night and cold--?They are snug and warm, and safe from harm,?In stall and byre and fold.?And the dogs and I, by the blazing fire,?Care nought for the snow and the cold.
_Oh ... where is my lamb--?My one ewe lamb--?That strayed from the fold_?
The barns are bursting with their store?Of grain like yellow gold;?A full, fat year has brought good cheer,?--Black is the night and cold.--?But ... What care I for teeming barns??And what care I for gold?
_Oh ... where is my lamb--?My one ewe lamb--?That strayed from the fold_?
In the great kitchen, maids and men,?--Black is the night and cold--?Laugh loud and long, with jest and song,?And merry revel hold.?Let them laugh and sing, let them have their fling,?But for me--I am growing old.
_Oh ... where is my lamb--?My one ewe lamb--?That strayed from the fold_?
The old house moans, and sighs and groans,?--Black is the night and cold--?We have seen brave times, you and I, old friend,?But now--we are growing old.?We have stood foursquare to many a storm,?But now--we are growing old.
_Oh ... where is my lamb--?My one ewe lamb--?That strayed from the fold_?
Her mother sleeps on the hill out there,?--Black is the night and cold,--?She is free from care, she is happier there,?Beneath the warm brown mould.?And I've sometimes hoped they may have met,?And the end of the tale be told.
_Ah ... where is our lamb--?Our one ewe lamb--?That strayed from the fold_?
Was that a branch that shed its load??--Black is the night and cold,--?Or--was it a footstep in the snow--?A timid footstep--halting, slow??Ah me! I am getting old!?Is that a tapping--soft and low??Can it be ... I thought I heard ... but no,?'Twas only a branch that shed its snow,--?God's truth! I am getting old!
_For I thought ... maybe?It was my lamb?Come home again to the fold_.
Dear