General William Booth Enters into Heaven | Page 5

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 better years.
The Gamblers
Life's a jail where men have common lot.?Gaunt the one who has, and who has not.?All our treasures neither less nor more,?Bread alone comes thro' the guarded door.?Cards are foolish in this jail, I think,?Yet they play for shoes, for drabs and drink.?She, my lawless, sharp-tongued gypsy maid?Will not scorn with me this jail-bird trade,?Pets some fox-eyed boy who turns the trick,?Tho' he win a button or a stick,?Pencil, garter, ribbon, corset-lace --?HIS the glory, MINE is the disgrace.
Sweet, I'd rather lose than win despite?Love of hearty words and maids polite.?"Love's a gamble," say you. I deny.?Love's a gift. I love you till I die.?Gamblers fight like rats. I will not play.?All I ever had I gave away.?All I ever coveted was peace?Such as comes if we have jail release.?Cards are puzzles, tho' the