Poems By William Walsham How ... New and Enlarged Edition |
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On Leader's Picture, “Parting-Day.”
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186
On Leader's Picture, “Parting-Day.”
LATELY IN THE LOAN COLLECTION AT THE BETHNAL GREEN MUSEUM.
Was it only five minutes ago I stood
In the streets of Bethnal Green,
Nursing a weary querulous mood
At the grim unlovely scene?
In the streets of Bethnal Green,
Nursing a weary querulous mood
At the grim unlovely scene?
Where are the sordid homes, all thronged
With the sorrows and sins of earth?
Where are the hollow-eyed children, wronged
Of the child's sweet dower of mirth?
With the sorrows and sins of earth?
Where are the hollow-eyed children, wronged
Of the child's sweet dower of mirth?
O brothers! And shall they be always such—
These homes of our fatherland?
But lo! they are gone at the magic touch
Of a wonder-working hand.
These homes of our fatherland?
But lo! they are gone at the magic touch
Of a wonder-working hand.
I am caught away in the flush and glow
Of the soft bright eventide;
And here on the river the light gleams low,
And there the dim shadows hide.
Of the soft bright eventide;
And here on the river the light gleams low,
And there the dim shadows hide.
187
And oh! for the depth of the sunny air
That is flooding the far-drawn sky,
With its dreamy spaces supremely fair
In their delicate purity!
That is flooding the far-drawn sky,
With its dreamy spaces supremely fair
In their delicate purity!
And, marshalled and ranged by the gracious sway
Of the zephyr's gentle might,
The cloudlets lie in their faint array,
Just tinged with the rosy light.
Of the zephyr's gentle might,
The cloudlets lie in their faint array,
Just tinged with the rosy light.
There are sunset glories to crown the view
On the far hill-ranges showered;
There are splendours of nearer warmth and hue
On the homestead tree-embowered.
On the far hill-ranges showered;
There are splendours of nearer warmth and hue
On the homestead tree-embowered.
O Leader, I thank thee that, 'mid the rush
Of the surging thunderous street,
Thou hast woven us here with thy magic brush
A vision so pure and sweet.
Of the surging thunderous street,
Thou hast woven us here with thy magic brush
A vision so pure and sweet.
But the toilers, weary of heart and limb,
Go by with their load of care,
For the world is too dreary and life too dim
For dreams of the sweet and fair.
Go by with their load of care,
For the world is too dreary and life too dim
For dreams of the sweet and fair.
What is it to them that the arching West
Is aflame with the burning gold?
What is it to them that the soft lights rest
On the crests of the purpling wold?
Is aflame with the burning gold?
What is it to them that the soft lights rest
On the crests of the purpling wold?
188
Why should they pause with unseeing eye
To stare at the art-clad wall?
'Tis a painted river and painted sky,
A picture—and that is all.
To stare at the art-clad wall?
'Tis a painted river and painted sky,
A picture—and that is all.
Who shall teach them the charm and the grace
That, for eyes that have learnt to see,
Still gleam so softly from Nature's face
In her unstained purity?
That, for eyes that have learnt to see,
Still gleam so softly from Nature's face
In her unstained purity?
Were it better, perchance, that these should pass
Unvexed to their stifling rooms,
Or seek their cheer 'mid the flaunting gas
And the tavern's poisoned fumes?
Unvexed to their stifling rooms,
Or seek their cheer 'mid the flaunting gas
And the tavern's poisoned fumes?
Have ye ever told them of joys more sure,
Of a life that is better worth?
Have ye told them of Him who loved the poor,
And lived with the poor on earth?
Of a life that is better worth?
Have ye told them of Him who loved the poor,
And lived with the poor on earth?
Have ye told them how God from His high estate
Looks down on their toil and care,
And that not alone for the rich and great
He hath made the world so fair?
Looks down on their toil and care,
And that not alone for the rich and great
He hath made the world so fair?
Have ye bettered the poor man's narrowed span?
Have ye brightened the way he's trod?
Perchance, when he knows the love of man,
He may learn the love of God.
Have ye brightened the way he's trod?
Perchance, when he knows the love of man,
He may learn the love of God.
(1885.)
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