Poems of Experience | Page 5

world seem truer;
And the better things of earth seem best,
And friends are dearer, as
friends are fewer,
And love is ALL as our sun dips west.
Then let us clasp hands as we walk together,
And let us speak softly in love's sweet tone;
For no man knows on the
morrow whether
We two pass on--or but one alone.
RESURRECTION
Pausing a moment ere the day was done,
While yet the earth was
scintillant with light,
I backward glanced. From valley, plain, and
height,
At intervals, where my life-path had run,
Rose cross on
cross; and nailed upon each one
Was my dead self. And yet that
gruesome sight
Lent sudden splendour to the falling night,
Showing
the conquests that my soul had won.
Up to the rising stars I looked and cried,
'There is no death! for year
on year, re-born
I wake to larger life: to joy more great,
So many
times have I been crucified,
So often seen the resurrection morn,
I
go triumphant, though new Calvaries wait.
THE VOICES OF THE CITY
The voices of the city--merged and swelled
Into a mighty dissonance
of sound,
And from the medley rose these broken strains
In
changing time and ever-changing keys.
I
Pleasure seekers, silken clad,

Led by cherub Day,
Ours the duty to be glad,
Ours the toil of play.
Sleep has bound the commonplace,
Pleasure rules the dawn.
Small hours set the merry pace
And we follow on.
We must use the joys of earth,
All its cares we'll keep;
Night was made for youth and mirth,
Day was made for sleep.
Time has cut his beard, and lo!
He is but a boy,
Singing, on with him we go,
Ah! but life is joy.
II
We are the vendors of beauty,
We the purveyors for hell;
The carnal bliss of a purchased kiss
And the pleasures that blight, we sell.
God pity us; God pity the
world.
We are the sad race-victims
Of the misused force in man,
Of the great white flame burned black
with shame
And lost to the primal plan.
God pity us; God pity the world.

We are the Purpose of Being
Gone wrong in the thought of the world.
The torch for its hand made
a danger brand
And into the darkness hurled.
God pity us; God pity the world.
III
We are the toilers in the realm of night
(Long, long the hours of
night),
We are the human lever, wheel, and bolt,
That keeps the
civic vehicle from jolt,
And jar upon the shining track of day
(The unremembered day).
We sleep away the sunlit hours of life
(Unsatisfied, sad life),
We
wake in shadow and we rise in gloom.
False as a wanton's artificial
bloom
Is that made light we labour in till dawn
(The lonely, laggard dawn).
Like visions half remembered in a dream
(A strange and broken
dream)
Our children's faces, seen but while they sleep,
Within our
hearts these weary hours we keep.
We are the toilers in the realm of
night
(Long, long the hours of night).
CHORUS
We are hope and faith and sorrow,
We are peace and pain and passion,

We are ardent lovers kissing,
We are happy mothers crooning,

We are rosy children dreaming,
We are honest labour sleeping,
We
are wholesome pleasure laughing,
We are wakeful riches feasting,

We are lifted spirits praying,
We the voices of the city.

Out of the medley rose these broken strains,
In changing time and
ever-changing keys.
IF CHRIST CAME QUESTIONING
If Christ came questioning His world to-day,
(If Christ came
questioning,)
'What hast thou done to glorify thy God,
Since last
My feet this lower earth plane trod?'
How could I answer Him; and in
what way
One evidence of my allegiance bring;
If Christ came
questioning.
If Christ came questioning, to me alone,
(If Christ came questioning,)

I could not point to any church or shrine
And say, 'I helped build
up this house of Thine;
Behold the altar, and the corner stone';
I
could not show one proof of such a thing;
If Christ came questioning.
If Christ came questioning, on His demand,
(If Christ came
questioning,)
No pagan soul converted to His creed
Could I
proclaim; or say, that word or deed
Of mine, had spread the faith in
any land;
Or sent it forth, to fly on stronger wing;
If Christ came
questioning.
If Christ came questioning the soul of me,
(If Christ came
questioning,)
I could but answer, 'Lord, my little part
Has been to
beat the metal of my heart,
Into the shape I thought most fit for Thee;

And at Thy feet, to cast the offering;
Shouldst Thou come
questioning.
'From out the earth-fed furnaces of desire,
(Ere Thou cam'st
questioning,)
This formless and unfinished gift I brought,
And on
life's anvil flung it down, white hot:
A glowing thing, of selfishness
and fire,
With blow on blow, I made the anvil ring;
(Ere Thou
cam'st questioning).
'The hammer, Self-Control, beat hard on it;
(Ere Thou cam'st

questioning,)
And with each blow, rose fiery sparks of pain;
I bear
their scars, on body, soul, and brain.
Long, long I toiled; and yet, dear
Lord, unfit,
And all unworthy, is the heart I bring,
To meet Thy
questioning.'
ENGLAND, AWAKE!
A beautiful great