Cross Roads | Page 9

ago!?You will recognize the song -- you who care must
know?Fear that blends with happiness, joy that touches
pain.
Rabbi with the grizzled beard hear adventure's story!
Hear the tale the music tells, thrilling with romance,
Hear the clatter of a sword, hear a broken lance?Falling from some hero's hand, red with bloodstained
glory.
(Tenements on either side, light-flecked in the gloaming,
Tenements on either side, stark and tall and gray --?Ah, the folk who line your halls wander far away,?All a crowded city slum is a-gypsie roaming!)
Woman with the brooding gaze, hear the lilting
laughter?Of the children that you loved, feel their softlipped
kisses;?Think of all the little joys that a hard world
missesWhat?though bitter loneliness always follows after?
Gangster with the shifty eyes, listen to the sighing
Of the hymn tune that you heard at your mother's
knee;?Listen to the restless ghost of the used-to-be,?Listen to a wistful ghost's empty-hearted crying.
(Tenements on either side -- menacing they stand --
Light-flecked in the softness of the late spring
weather. . . .?But young love and broken life are standing close
together,?And all a city slum is out to listen to the band.)
III. THE ORGAN MAN
He's very old, his music box is old and rusty, too,
And half the notes of it are harsh, and half of
them are slow;?One wonders if the coat he wears could ever have
been new --?And if the tune he plays was quite forgotten long
ago.
He finds a sunny place to stand, and lifts his bleary
eyes,?And smiles a bit -- a toothless smile half touched,
perhaps, with fear;?And though he cannot see them he is looking at the
skies,?As if he prays, but silently, for hope and faith
and cheer.
The foreign women pass him by, their tarnished coins
held tight,?They toss their heads and will not hear his music's
wistful hum --?But through each alley way and street, like moths
that seek the light,?With eager eyes and laughing lips the little children
come.
He plays his ancient, shaky song, his mouth moves to
its sway,?He does not know the tune of it is old and out of
key;?For, through his eyes, a soul stares out that wanders
far away,?In some fair land of youth and love -- some land
that used to be.
The little children cluster close, bareheaded, bare of
limb --?They hold their ragged frocks and dance, they do
not care -- or know,?That they are like a garden place, a fragrant dream
to him,?Or that the tune he plays was quite forgotten long
ago.
"BE OF GOOD CHEER!"
Temptation came to me today,?And oh, I felt that I must stray?Down primrose paths, forgetting all. . . .?The city's fevered, siren call?Spoke to my soul, its whispered cry?Said, "Live, for Youth, too soon, will die!"
So all alone, when work was done,?I sought the park. The setting sun?Had left a bit of warmth for me --?I found a bench beneath a tree,?And sat and thought.
My life is hard,?Sometimes my heart seems battle-scarred,?With longings keen, and bitter fears,?And want, and suffering, and tears.
Temptation spoke, and Youth spoke back;?The night seemed cold and grimly black,?And every light was like a star?That cleft the sky -- they were so far,?So very far away! And I?Was lonely, there, beneath the sky. . . .
There used to be a little farm?A tiny place, remote from harm;?There used to be a mother frail?And sweet, with hair as silver-pale?As the faint moon. She heard me say?The words when first I learned to pray. . . .
Above me in the silent trees,?I heard the rustles of the breeze,?It sounded like her step, as light?As dreams across an endless night.?My mother --
Ah, the name so sweet,?Brought memories on noiseless feet,?And softly in the darkness, there,?I breathed my little childhood prayer. . . .
Do prayers have answers? As I prayed?A Presence came, and gently laid?A Hand upon my arm. I knew?That Someone kind, and good, and true?Was very near. Upon my soul?A peace swept down, and left it whole.?I felt a calm steal over me,?The same that stilled the troubled sea?Where Jesus walked.
My fears were laid,?Temptation left me unafraid.?And as I smiled, there in the park,?A voice spoke through the fragrant dark.?"Be of good cheer!" the words rang out?Like music through the city's shout.
And all the lights that I could see?Were stars of home, agleam for me!
FROM MY ROOM
I love you, dear. . . .?Here, alone in my room tonight, it is all that matters,?Out through my window, vaguely hushed, the city
clatters,?Telling ever its tale of woe and mirth,?Sighing ever its song of death and birth,?Singing ever its potent, mad refrain,?Swept with tears and the bitter weight of pain.
Here in my room I kneel, alone, to pray,?But there seems very little, dear, to say?Even to God. So, kneeling by my bed,?I think dim thoughts, and dream long dreams instead.?Wide-eyed I kneel and watch the candle flame,?Making swift shadows on the wall; your name?Throbs in my heart, and makes my pulse to thrill --?Wide-eyed I kneel, with soul a-light, until?Somewhere a clock starts chiming.