 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
759
SANGUIS CORDIS.
Wrung from depths of Nature's fiery fountains,
Sin and suffering, pain and grief,
Stirred by blasts that blow on unscaled mountains,
Cares beyond the world's relief;
Made of all the mystic sounds of sorrow,
Wandering through our doubt and dearth,
Dawnless days, and nights without a morrow
Habiting a homeless earth;
Mingled with the breath of boundless oceans,
Fed by tears of ages' flood,
Torn from bruiséd breasts and lost devotions,
Drops of blood
Sin and suffering, pain and grief,
Stirred by blasts that blow on unscaled mountains,
Cares beyond the world's relief;
Made of all the mystic sounds of sorrow,
Wandering through our doubt and dearth,
Dawnless days, and nights without a morrow
Habiting a homeless earth;
Mingled with the breath of boundless oceans,
Fed by tears of ages' flood,
Torn from bruiséd breasts and lost devotions,
Drops of blood
Yet but words in semblance, wisdom only
Hammered out on iron forge,
Where the sadnesses of exiles lonely
Sigh to Heaven from sunless gorge;
Hammered out red-hot by burning passion,
In the sweater's slaving den,
Jarring on the joys that fools of fashion
Frame from goodly lives of men;
Hammered into shapes, that shine for ever
Beacons on the foaming flood,
Shedding fruitful on each brave endeavour
Rays of blood.
Hammered out on iron forge,
Where the sadnesses of exiles lonely
Sigh to Heaven from sunless gorge;
Hammered out red-hot by burning passion,
In the sweater's slaving den,
Jarring on the joys that fools of fashion
Frame from goodly lives of men;
Hammered into shapes, that shine for ever
Beacons on the foaming flood,
Shedding fruitful on each brave endeavour
Rays of blood.
All the sobs of children, chants of sages
Who of hope divine made part,
Gathered by the Poet, and like pages
Rent from his great troubled heart;
Wrought into one purpose pure, a token
Of deliverance for the slave
Manacled, who on the tyrant broken
Steps in grandeur from the grave;
Breathing promise for the souls that sicken,
At the march of famine's flood,
Till upstart from field and fortune stricken,
Flowers of blood.
Who of hope divine made part,
Gathered by the Poet, and like pages
Rent from his great troubled heart;
Wrought into one purpose pure, a token
Of deliverance for the slave
Manacled, who on the tyrant broken
Steps in grandeur from the grave;
Breathing promise for the souls that sicken,
At the march of famine's flood,
Till upstart from field and fortune stricken,
Flowers of blood.
Just a simple song, a new creation
Flashed upon the night of faith,
Bursting into blossom of salvation,
As a spirit from its spathe;
Out of inner empyrean glory,
Where the wheels of nature grind,
For discrownéd falsehoods, sceptres gory,
Speeding in the kingdom kind;
As the harvest sown by women tender,
Who endured the adverse flood,
Scatters from sweet cross of life's surrender,
Fruits of blood.
Flashed upon the night of faith,
Bursting into blossom of salvation,
As a spirit from its spathe;
Out of inner empyrean glory,
Where the wheels of nature grind,
For discrownéd falsehoods, sceptres gory,
Speeding in the kingdom kind;
As the harvest sown by women tender,
Who endured the adverse flood,
Scatters from sweet cross of life's surrender,
Fruits of blood.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |