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THE WHITE CZAR'S PEOPLE |
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 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
THE WHITE CZAR'S PEOPLE
PART I
The White Czar's people cry:
“Thou God of the heat and the cold,
Of storm and of lightning,
Of darkness, and dawn's red brightening;
Hold, Lord God, hold,
Hold Thy hand lest we curse Thee and die.”
“Thou God of the heat and the cold,
Of storm and of lightning,
165
Hold, Lord God, hold,
Hold Thy hand lest we curse Thee and die.”
The White Czar's people pray:
“Thou God of the South and the North,
We are crusht, we are bleeding;
'T is Christ, 't is Thy Son interceding;
Forth, Lord, come forth!
Bid the slayer no longer slay.”
“Thou God of the South and the North,
We are crusht, we are bleeding;
'T is Christ, 't is Thy Son interceding;
Forth, Lord, come forth!
Bid the slayer no longer slay.”
The White Czar's people call
Aloud to the skies of lead:
“We are slaves, not freemen;
Ourselves, our children, our women—
Dead, we are dead,
Tho' we breathe, we are dead men all.
Aloud to the skies of lead:
“We are slaves, not freemen;
Ourselves, our children, our women—
Dead, we are dead,
Tho' we breathe, we are dead men all.
“Blame not if we misprize Thee
Who can, but will not draw near.
'T is Thou who hast made us—
Not Thou, dread God, to upbraid us.
Hear, Lord God, hear!
Lest we whom Thou madest despise Thee.”
Who can, but will not draw near.
'T is Thou who hast made us—
Not Thou, dread God, to upbraid us.
Hear, Lord God, hear!
Lest we whom Thou madest despise Thee.”
PART II
Then answered the Most High God,
Lord of the heat and the cold,
Of storm and of lightning,
Of darkness, and dawn's red brightening:
“Bold, yea, too bold,
Whom I wrought from the air and the clod!
Lord of the heat and the cold,
Of storm and of lightning,
Of darkness, and dawn's red brightening:
“Bold, yea, too bold,
Whom I wrought from the air and the clod!
“Hast thou forgotten from me
Are those ears so quick to hear
The passion and anguish
Of your sisters, your children who languish
Near? Ah, not near—
Far off by the uttermost sea!
Are those ears so quick to hear
166
Of your sisters, your children who languish
Near? Ah, not near—
Far off by the uttermost sea!
“Who gave ye your brains to plan—
Your hearts to suffer and bleed?
Why call ye on heaven—
'T is the earth that to you is given!
Plead, ye may plead,
But for man I work through man.
Your hearts to suffer and bleed?
Why call ye on heaven—
'T is the earth that to you is given!
Plead, ye may plead,
But for man I work through man.
“Who gave ye a voice to utter
Your tale to the wind and the sea?
One word well spoken
And the iron gates are broken!
From me, yea, from me
The word that ye will not mutter.
Your tale to the wind and the sea?
One word well spoken
And the iron gates are broken!
From me, yea, from me
The word that ye will not mutter.
“I love not murder but ruth.
Begone from my sight ye who take
The knife of the coward—
Even ye who by heaven were dowered!
Wake ye, O wake,
And strike with the sword of Truth!
Begone from my sight ye who take
The knife of the coward—
Even ye who by heaven were dowered!
Wake ye, O wake,
And strike with the sword of Truth!
“Fear ye lest I misprize ye—
I who fashioned not brutes, but men.
After the lightning
And darkness—the dawn's red brightening!
Men! Be ye men!
Lest I who made ye despise ye!”
I who fashioned not brutes, but men.
After the lightning
And darkness—the dawn's red brightening!
Men! Be ye men!
Lest I who made ye despise ye!”
167
PART III
(January 22, 1905)
The great word is uttered, at last!
White Czar! O, where hast thou fled?
Thy children, heart-broken,
To thee their sorrows have spoken!
To thee it is said—
That Word on the wings of the blast!
White Czar! O, where hast thou fled?
Thy children, heart-broken,
To thee their sorrows have spoken!
To thee it is said—
That Word on the wings of the blast!
For the word is their fearful cry,
And the word is their innocent blood.
O, red is the chalice
Lifted up to thy empty palace!
Blood, crimson blood,
On the snows where the murdered lie!
And the word is their innocent blood.
O, red is the chalice
Lifted up to thy empty palace!
Blood, crimson blood,
On the snows where the murdered lie!
Their shed blood is the word! It is winning
Its way swift from zone unto zone;
Through the world it has thrilled
And the heart of the nations stilled.
Alone, thou alone!
Art thou deaf to the voice and the meaning?
Its way swift from zone unto zone;
Through the world it has thrilled
And the heart of the nations stilled.
Alone, thou alone!
Art thou deaf to the voice and the meaning?
Lo, it swells like the sound of the sea.
Dull monarch! yet, yet, shalt thou hear it.
For, once 'neath the sun
By the brave it is spoken—all's done!
Hear it—and fear it;
For “Freedom” it cries, “We are free!”
Dull monarch! yet, yet, shalt thou hear it.
For, once 'neath the sun
By the brave it is spoken—all's done!
Hear it—and fear it;
For “Freedom” it cries, “We are free!”
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |