 | English Roses |  |
504
BIRDS OF PASSAGE.
I am passing through and on,
Whither I can hardly say
Though to some undreamed of Day,
When this mortal light has laughed and gone;
Souls are sinning,
Loves beginning
In the madness of our Babylon,
As they sighed of old in gardens gay;
Lives keep calling,
In their falling,
For the help of mine Eirenikon—
And I never shall return this way.
Whither I can hardly say
Though to some undreamed of Day,
When this mortal light has laughed and gone;
Souls are sinning,
Loves beginning
In the madness of our Babylon,
As they sighed of old in gardens gay;
Lives keep calling,
In their falling,
For the help of mine Eirenikon—
And I never shall return this way.
Let me kindly now I can
As a pilgrim who must pass,
With a mind unbound by class,
Do what I may do for suffering man;
Leave a little
Work, though brittle,
Which will enter in a larger plan—
If it's merely one more blade of grass.
Hearts that humbly
Walk, still dumbly
Faint beneath their grievous worldly ban—
Earth is iron and the heavens are brass.
As a pilgrim who must pass,
With a mind unbound by class,
Do what I may do for suffering man;
Leave a little
Work, though brittle,
Which will enter in a larger plan—
If it's merely one more blade of grass.
Hearts that humbly
Walk, still dumbly
Faint beneath their grievous worldly ban—
Earth is iron and the heavens are brass.
I am only passing by,
Here in plenty, there in lack,
On a broad and beaten track
From the womb of ancient mystery;
Clouds enwreath me,
And beneath me
Lie the dead who dropt most ruefully
And have paved the pathway with their wrack.
But the living
Ask for giving—
Just a word may ope Infinity;
And this road I never shall come back.
Here in plenty, there in lack,
On a broad and beaten track
From the womb of ancient mystery;
Clouds enwreath me,
And beneath me
Lie the dead who dropt most ruefully
And have paved the pathway with their wrack.
But the living
Ask for giving—
Just a word may ope Infinity;
And this road I never shall come back.
505
While I pass among the throng
Let me render what I must,
Though amid the noise and dust—
For the righting of a simple wrong.
In the shaking
Lands, is breaking
Sunshine that will send the earth along
And renew the glory of its trust.
Lips, like mute strings,
Yet God's lutestrings
Add a note to the Eternal Song—
They have fire, if yet the pauper's crust.
Let me render what I must,
Though amid the noise and dust—
For the righting of a simple wrong.
In the shaking
Lands, is breaking
Sunshine that will send the earth along
And renew the glory of its trust.
Lips, like mute strings,
Yet God's lutestrings
Add a note to the Eternal Song—
They have fire, if yet the pauper's crust.
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