Eyes of Youth | Page 4

tasteth of dishes?And all his soul wishes--?Nor knoweth his hour hath been set.
The death of the pale-sodden hay
'Neath the feet of the kine?Is to man for a sign;?At the striking of ten he was grey,
And they carried him out?Stiff-strangled with gout.?(Man, it is said, is as hay.)
THE PATER OF THE CANNON
Father of the thunder,?Flinger of the flame,?Searing stars asunder,?Hallowed be Thy Name!
By the sweet-sung quiring?Sister bullets hum,?By our fiercest firing,?May Thy Kingdom come!
By Thy strong apostle?Of the Maxim gun,?By his pentecostal?Flame, Thy Will be done!
Give us, Lord, good feeding?To Thy battles sped--Flesh,?white grained and bleeding,?Give for daily bread!
FLEET STREET
I never see the newsboys run?Amid the whirling street,?With swift untiring feet,?To cry the latest venture done,?But I expect one day to hear?Them cry the crack of doom?And risings from the tomb,?With great Archangel Michael near;?And see them running from the Fleet?As messengers of God,?With Heaven's tidings shod?About their brave unwearied feet.
NIGHTMARE
I dreamt that the heavens were beggared?And angels went chanting for bread,?And the cherubs were sewed up in sackcloth,?And Satan anointed his head.?I dreamt they had chalked up a price?On the sun and the stars at God's feet,?And the Devil had bought up the Church,?And put out the Pope in the street.
TO A NOBLEMAN BECOMING SOCIALIST
I do remember thee so blest and filled?With all life offered thee,?Yet unsurprised I learn that thou hast willed?To share or lose her fee.
It seems a very great and stalwart thing?To toss defence away,?To tear the golden feathers from thy wing?And lie with shards of clay.
To some far vision's light thine eyes are set?That mock life's treasure trove,?And see the changing woof not woven yet?As God would have it wove.
The red thou flauntest bravely, friend, for me?Hast lost alarming power;?For who but guilty men will quake their knee,?And who but robbers cower?
For many hallowed things are symbolled red,?Live fire and cleansing war,?And the bright sealing Blood that Christ once shed,?And Martyrs yet must pour.
O friend, choose one of these ourselves to link;?For how could friendship be?If from the foaming cup thou hast to drink?The dregs come not to me?
Dividing much, thou makest little thine?Except the gain of loss;?Yet haply Christ's true peer hath better sign?Than coronet--the Cross.
ST. GEORGE-IN-THE-EAST
'Mid the quiet splendour of a pennoned crowd,
Gently proud,?Moved in armour, silvered in celestial forge,
Great Saint George,?Stands he in the crimson-woven air of fight
Speared with light--?Hell is harried by the holy anger poured
From his sword.
Where the sweated toilers of the river slum
Shiver dumb,?Passed to-day a poorly clad and poorly shod
Knight of God;?Where the human eddy smears with shame and rags
Paving flags,?Hell shall weakly wail beneath the words he cries
Piteous-wise.

VIOLA MEYNELL
THE RUIN
I led thy thoughts, having them for my own,?To where my God His head to thee did bend.?I bore thee in my bosom to His throne.?O, the blest labour, and the treasured end!
Now like a ruined aqueduct I go?Unburdened; thou by more fleet ways hast been?With Him. Since thou thine own swift road dost know,?Thou canst not brook such slow and devious mean.
THE DREAM
I slept, and thought a letter came from you--?You did not love me any more, it said.?What breathless grief!--my love not true, not true ...?I was afraid of people, and afraid?Of things inanimate--the wind that blew,?The clock, the wooden chair; and so I strayed?From home, but could not stray from grief, I knew.?And then at dawn I woke, and wept, and prayed,?And knew my blessed love was still the same;--?And yet I sit and moan upon the bed?For that dream-creature's loss. For when I came?(I came, perhaps, to comfort her) she fled.?I would be with her where she wanders now,?Fleeing the earth, with pain upon her brow.
THE WANDERER
All night my thoughts have rested in God's fold;?They lay beside me here upon the bed.?At dawn I woke: the air beat sad and cold.?I told them o'er--Ah, God, one thought had fled.
Into what dark, deep chasm this wayward one?Has sunk, I scarcely know; I will not chide.?O Shepherd, leave me! Seek this lamb alone.?The ninety-nine are here. They will abide.
"NATURE IS THE LIVING MANTLE OF GOD_"--_GOETHE
O for the time when some impetuous breeze?Will catch Thy garment, and, like autumn trees,?Toss it and rend it till Thou standest free,?And end Thy long secluded reverie!
Still now its beauty folds Thee, and--as she?Who kissed Thy garment and had health from Thee--?I feel the sun, or hear some bird in bliss,?And Thou hast then my sudden, humble kiss.
SECRET PRAYER
Since that with lips which moved in one we prayed,?So that God ceased to hear us speak apart,?What law irrevocable have we made??How shall He hear a solitary heart
When He did need that we, to have His ear,?Should go aside and pray together there?With urgent breath? Ah, now I pause and fear--?How shall uprise my lonely, separate prayer?
THE UNHEEDED
Upon one hand your kisses chanced to rest:?I smiled upon the other hand and said?"Poor thing,"