The Englishman and Other Poems | Page 5

Day has never understood the Gloaming or the Night;?Though sired by one Creative Power, and nursed at Nature's breast; The White Man ever fails to read the Dark Man's heart aright; Though from the self-same Source they came, upon the self-same quest; So deep and wide, the Great Divide,?Between the East and West.
But like a shadow on a screen, mine eyes behold, above?The yawning gulf, a dim forecast, of structures strong and broad; Where caste, and colour prejudice, by countless feet down trod, With old traditions crushed by Time, pave smooth the bridge of Love; And all the creed that men shall heed?Is consciousness of God.
THE SQUANDERER
God gave him passions, splendid as the sun,?Meant for the lordliest purposes; a part?Of nature's full and fertile mother heart,?From which new systems and new stars are spun.?And now, behold, behold, what he has done!
In Folly's court and carnal Pleasures' mart?He flung the wealth life gave him at the start.?(This, of all mortal sins, the deadliest one.)
At dawn he stood, potential, opulent,
With virile manhood, and emotions keen,
And wonderful with God's creative fire.?At noon he stands, with Love's large fortune spent
In petty traffic, unproductive, mean -
A pauper, cursed with impotent desire.
COMPENSATIONS
I
BLIND
When first the shadows fell, like prison bars,?And darkness spread before me, like a pall,?I cried out for the sun, the earth, the stars,?And beat the air, as madmen beat a wall,?Till, impotent, and broken with despair,?I turned my vision inward. Lo, a spark -?A light--a torch; and all my world grew bright;?For God's dear eyes were shining through the dark.?Then, bringing to me gifts of recompense,?Came keener hearing, finer taste, and touch;?And that oft unappreciated sense,?Which finds sweet odours, and proclaims them such;?And not until my mortal eyes were blind?Did I perceive how kind the world, how kind.
II
DEAF
I can recall a time, when on mine ears?There fell chaotic sounds of earthly life,?Shrill cries of triumph, and hoarse shouts of strife;?A medley of despairs, and hopes and fears.?Then silence came, and unavailing tears.?The stillness stabbed me, like a two edged-knife;?Until I found the Universe was rife?With subtle music of the neighbouring spheres.?Such harmonies, such congruous sweet chords,?Wherein each note conveys a healing balm.?And now no more I miss men's spoken words;?For, in a quiet world of larger thought,?I know the joy that comes from being calm.
III
SHUT-IN
Across my window glass?The moving shadows of the people pass.?Sometimes the shadow's pause; and through the hall?Kind neighbours come to call,?Bringing a word or smile?To cheer my loneliness a little while.?But as I hear them talk,?These people who can walk?And go about the great green earth at will,?I wonder if they know the joy of being still,?And all alone with thoughts that soar afar -?High as the highest star.?And oft I feel more free?Than those who travel over land and sea.?For one who is shut in,?Away from all the outer strife and din,?With faithful Pain for guide,?Finds where Great Truths abide.
Across my window glass?The moving shadows pass.?But swifter moves my unimpeded thought,?Speeding from spot to spot -?Out and afar -?High as the highest star.
SONG OF THE RAIL
Oh, an ugly thing is an iron rail,?Black, with its face to the dust.?But it carries a message where winged things fail;?It crosses the mountains, and catches the trail,?While the winds and the sea make sport of a sail;?Oh, a rail is a friend to trust.
The iron rail, with its face to the sod,?Is only a bar of ore;?Yet it speeds where never a foot has trod;?And the narrow path where it leads, grows broad;?And it speaks to the world in the voice of God,?That echoes from shore to shore.
Though the iron rail, on the earth down flung,?Seems kin to the loam and the soil,?Wherever its high shrill note is sung,?Out of the jungle fair homes have sprung,?And the voices of babel find one tongue,?In the common language of toil.
Of priest, and warrior, and conquering king,?Of Knights of the Holy Grail,?Of wonders of winter, and glories of spring,?Always and ever the poets sing;?But the great God-Force, in a lowly thing,?I sing, in my song of the rail.
ALWAYS AT SEA
Always at sea I think about the dead.?On barques invisible they seem to sail?The self-same course; and from the decks cry 'Hail'!?Then I recall old words that they have said,?And see their faces etched upon the mist -
Dear faces I have kissed.
Always the dead seem very close at sea.?The coarse vibrations of the earth debar?Our spirit friends from coming where we are.?But through God's ether, unimpeded, free,?They wing their way, the ocean deeps above -
And find the hearts that love.
Always at sea my dead come very near.?A growing host; some old in spirit lore,?And some who crossed to find the other shore?But yesterday. All, all, I see and hear?With inner senses, while the voice of faith
Proclaims--there is no death.
THE SUITORS
There is a little Bungalow?Perched on a