 | The Poems of Selwyn Image |  |
21
UNDER CHARING CROSS ARCH
Poor, worn-out Mortals! here you lie,
Stretched on your sandwich-boards, asleep!
Unconscious of the passers-by;
Unheedful of what miseries steep
Your waking hours, without, within!
To rouse you were a sin.
Stretched on your sandwich-boards, asleep!
Unconscious of the passers-by;
Unheedful of what miseries steep
Your waking hours, without, within!
To rouse you were a sin.
In yonder street the sun's ablaze;
I catch the river's glittering light
At end of it: their careless ways
The crowd goes on, in sin's despite,
In sorrow's neighbourhood content.—
You're lost in wonderment?
I catch the river's glittering light
At end of it: their careless ways
The crowd goes on, in sin's despite,
In sorrow's neighbourhood content.—
You're lost in wonderment?
He made us all, Whose name is Good;
He counts each hair upon our head;
He marks the inmost spirit's mood;
On every soul His grace is shed.—
You think these beggars give the lie
To such theology?
He counts each hair upon our head;
He marks the inmost spirit's mood;
On every soul His grace is shed.—
You think these beggars give the lie
To such theology?
Look! the dim coolness of this place,
How soothingly it's lulled to rest
Each unwashed, haggard, hungry face!
No child upon its mother's breast
Sleeps sounder! All life's troubles cease!
What deep oblivious peace!
How soothingly it's lulled to rest
Each unwashed, haggard, hungry face!
No child upon its mother's breast
Sleeps sounder! All life's troubles cease!
What deep oblivious peace!
1890.
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