Giant Hours With Poet Preachers | Page 8

under the inspiration of a missionary sermon delivered in a modern church, the race that was:
"Fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room, Barrel-house kings with feet unstable, Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table, Pounded on the table, Beat an empty barrel with the handle of a broom, Hard as they were able, Boom, boom, BOOM With a silk umbrella, and the handle of a broom, Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM Then I had religion, then I had a vision. I could not turn from their revel in derision. THEN I SAW THE CONGO CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK, CUTTING THROUGH THE FORESTS WITH A GOLDEN TRACK!"
The Congo.
Then follows as vital, vivid, and vigorous a description as ever was written by pen, inspired of God, tipped with fire, of the uplift and redemption of the Negro race, through Jesus Christ.
The "General William Booth" title poem to the second Lindsay book shook the literary world awake with its perfect interpretation of The Salvation Army leader. It is a poem to be chanted at first with "Bass drums beaten loudly" and then "with banjos"; then softly with "sweet flute music," and finally, as the great General comes face to face with Christ, with a "Grand chorus of all instruments; tambourines to the foreground." Running through this poem is the refrain of "Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?" and the last lines catch the tender, yet absolutely unique spirit of the entire poem:
"And when Booth halted by the curb for prayer He saw his Master thro' the flag-filled air. Christ came gently with a robe and crown For Booth the soldier, while the throng knealt down. He saw King Jesus. They were face to face, And he knealt a-weeping in that holy place, Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?"
General William Booth.
But one could not get Lindsay to the hearts of folks, one could not make the picture complete, without putting Lincoln in, any more than he could make Lindsay complete without putting into these pages "The Soul of the City Receives the Gift of the Holy Spirit," or "General William Booth Enters Into Heaven," or "The Congo." Lincoln seems to be as much a part of Lindsay as he is a part of Springfield. Lindsay and Lincoln, to those who love both, mean Springfield, and Springfield means Lincoln and Lindsay. And what Lindsay is trying to do for city, for village, for town, for the Negro, for every human being, is voiced in his poem, "Lincoln."
"Would I might rouse the Lincoln in you all, That which is gendered in the wilderness, From lonely prairies and God's tenderness."
General William Booth.
Let this poem "Heart of God" be the benediction of this chapter on Lindsay:
"O great heart of God, Once vague and lost to me, Why do I throb with your throb to-night, In this land, eternity?
"O, little heart of God, Sweet intruding stranger, You are laughing in my human breast, A Christ-child in a manger.
"Heart, dear heart of God, Beside you now I kneel, Strong heart of faith. O heart not mine, Where God has set His seal.
"Wild, thundering heart of God, Out of my doubt I come, And my foolish feet with prophets' feet March with the prophets' drum!"
General William Booth.
[Illustration: JOAQUIN MILLER]

III
JOAQUIN MILLER [Footnote: The quotations from the poems of Joaquin Miller appearing in this chapter are used by permission of the Harr Wagner Publishing Company, owners of copyright.]
A STUDY OF HOME, FATHER LOVE, GREAT MOMENTS WITH JESUS CHRIST, HEAVEN, AND GOD
It was a warm, sunny May California day; and the day stands out, even above California days. A climb up the Piedmont hills back of Oakland, California, brought us to "The Heights," the unique home of Joaquin Miller, poet of the West and poet of the world.
A visit to the homes of the New England poets is always interesting because of historic and literary associations, but none of them has the touch of the unique personality of Miller.
Most people interested in things literary know that Miller, with a great desire to emphasize the freedom of the individual, built a half dozen separate houses, one for himself, one for his wife, one for his daughter Juanita, several for guests from all over the world who were always visiting him, and a little chapel. Literary men from every nation on the planet visited Miller at "The Heights." Most people interested knew also that Miller, with his own hands, had built monuments of stone to Fremont, the explorer, to Moses, and to Browning. There was also a granite funeral pyre for himself, within sight of the little "God's Acre," in which he had buried some eighteen or twenty outcasts and derelicts of earth who had no other plot to call their own in which to take their last long sleep.
We