General William Booth Enters into Heaven | Page 5

statesmen in league with all
Who hope for the girl-child's fall?
Of
banks where hell's money is paid
And Pharisees all afraid
Of
pandars that help them sin?
When will our wrath begin?
Where is David, the Next King of Israel?
Where is David? . . . O God's people,
Saul has passed, the good and
great.
Mourn for Saul the first-anointed --
Head and shoulders o'er
the state.
He was found among the Prophets:
Judge and monarch, merged in
one.
But the wars of Saul are ended
And the works of Saul are
done.
Where is David, ruddy shepherd,
God's boy-king for Israel?
Mystic,
ardent, dowered with beauty,
Singing where still waters dwell?
Prophet, find that destined minstrel
Wandering on the range to-day,

Driving sheep and crooning softly
Psalms that cannot pass away.
"David waits," the prophet answers,
"In a black notorious den,
In a
cave upon the border
With four hundred outlaw men.
"He is fair, and loved of women,
Mighty-hearted, born to sing:

Thieving, weeping, erring, praying,
Radiant royal rebel-king.
"He will come with harp and psaltry,
Quell his troop of convict swine,

Quell his mad-dog roaring rascals,
Witching them with words
divine --
"They will ram the walls of Zion!
They will win us Salem hill,
All
for David, Shepherd David --
Singing like a mountain rill!"

On Reading Omar Khayyam
[During an anti-saloon campaign, in central Illinois.]
In the midst of the battle I turned,
(For the thunders could flourish
without me)
And hid by a rose-hung wall,
Forgetting the murder
about me;
And wrote, from my wound, on the stone,
In mirth, half
prayer, half play: --
"Send me a picture book,
Send me a song,
to-day."
I saw him there by the wall
When I scarce had written the line,
In
the enemy's colors dressed
And the serpent-standard of wine

Writhing its withered length
From his ghostly hands o'er the ground,

And there by his shadowy breast
The glorious poem I found.
This was his world-old cry:
Thus read the famous prayer:
"Wine,
wine, wine and flowers
And cup-bearers always fair!"
'Twas a book
of the snares of earth
Bordered in gold and blue,
And I read each
line to the wind
And read to the roses too:
And they nodded their
womanly heads
And told to the wall just why
For wine of the earth
men bleed,
Kingdoms and empires die.
I envied the grape stained
sage:
(The roses were praising him.)
The ways of the world seemed
good
And the glory of heaven dim.
I envied the endless kings

Who found great pearls in the mire,
Who bought with the nation's life

The cup of delicious fire.
But the wine of God came down,
And I drank it out of the air.
(Fair
is the serpent-cup,
But the cup of God more fair.)
The wine of God
came down
That makes no drinker to weep.
And I went back to
battle again
Leaving the singer asleep.
The Beggar's Valentine
Kiss me and comfort my heart
Maiden honest and fine.
I am the
pilgrim boy
Lame, but hunting the shrine;

Fleeing away from the sweets,
Seeking the dust and rain,
Sworn to
the staff and road,
Scorning pleasure and pain;
Nevertheless my mouth
Would rest like a bird an hour
And find in
your curls a nest
And find in your breast a bower:
Nevertheless my eyes
Would lose themselves in your own,
Rivers
that seek the sea,
Angels before the throne:
Kiss me and comfort my heart,
For love can never be mine:
Passion,
hunger and pain,
These are the only wine
Of the pilgrim bound to the road.
He would rob no man of his own.

Your heart is another's I know,
Your honor is his alone.
The feasts of a long drawn love,
The feasts of a wedded life,
The
harvests of patient years,
And hearthstone and children and wife:
These are your lords I know.
These can never be mine --
This is the
price I pay
For the foolish search for the shrine:
This is the price I pay
For the joy of my midnight prayers,
Kneeling
beneath the moon
With hills for my altar stairs;
This is the price I pay
For the throb of the mystic wings,
When the
dove of God comes down
And beats round my heart and sings;
This is the price I pay
For the light I shall some day see
At the ends
of the infinite earth
When truth shall come to me.
And what if my body die
Before I meet the truth?
The road is dear,
more dear
Than love or life or youth.
The road, it is the road,
Mystical, endless, kind,
Mother of visions
vast,
Mother of soul and mind;

Mother of all of me
But the blood that cries for a mate --
That cries
for a farewell kiss
From the child of God at the gate.
Honor Among Scamps
We are the smirched. Queen Honor is the spotless.
We slept thro'
wars where Honor could not sleep.
We were faint-hearted. Honor was
full-valiant.
We kept a silence Honor could not keep.
Yet this late day we make a song to praise her.
We, codeless, will yet
vindicate her code.
She who was mighty, walks with us, the beggars.

The merchants drive her out upon the road.
She makes a throne of sod beside our campfire.
We give the
maiden-queen our rags and tears.
A battered, rascal guard have rallied
round her,
To keep her safe until the