My Lyrical Life Poems Old and New. By Gerald Massey |
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MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE. |
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 | My Lyrical Life |  |
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE.
Merry Christmas Eve in a Palace where knavery
Crowded all treasures that Workers surrender;
Where spirits grow rusted in silkenest slavery;
Life is out-panted in sloth and in splendour:
In gladness and glory Wealth's darlings were meeting,
And jewel-clasped fingers linked softly again;
New Friendships a-twining, and Old Friends a-greeting;
No thought of God's creatures that crouch in their pain!
Crowded all treasures that Workers surrender;
Where spirits grow rusted in silkenest slavery;
Life is out-panted in sloth and in splendour:
In gladness and glory Wealth's darlings were meeting,
And jewel-clasped fingers linked softly again;
New Friendships a-twining, and Old Friends a-greeting;
No thought of God's creatures that crouch in their pain!
Merry Christmas Eve in a Poor man's grim hovel,
There huddled in silence a famishing family;
Church-bells were chiming in musical revel,
Through Night's mask a-mocking with merry anomaly.
All in the happy time there they sat, mourning—
Two Sons—two Brothers—in penal chains bleeding;
Their hearts wandered forth to the never-returning,
Who rose on their vision, pale, haggard, and pleading.
There huddled in silence a famishing family;
Church-bells were chiming in musical revel,
Through Night's mask a-mocking with merry anomaly.
All in the happy time there they sat, mourning—
Two Sons—two Brothers—in penal chains bleeding;
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Who rose on their vision, pale, haggard, and pleading.
Merry Christmas Eve! for the Rich there was music
And dancing, and Wine on Wine woo'd on the board;
O Falstaff! you prince of Lies! 'twould have made you sick,
To hear how they flattered a Mammonite Lord!
What matter, though hearts might be breaking without?
Their moans did not reach them where rang roof and rafter
With mirth that in face of the wretched will flout.
Ay, laugh on, ye callous, in Hell there is laughter!
And dancing, and Wine on Wine woo'd on the board;
O Falstaff! you prince of Lies! 'twould have made you sick,
To hear how they flattered a Mammonite Lord!
What matter, though hearts might be breaking without?
Their moans did not reach them where rang roof and rafter
With mirth that in face of the wretched will flout.
Ay, laugh on, ye callous, in Hell there is laughter!
Merry Christmas Eve! but the stricken ones heard
No neighbourly welcome, no kind voice of kin;
They looked at each other, but spake not a word,
While through crevice, and cranny, the sleet drifted in.
In a desolate corner, one, hunger-killed, lay,
And the Mother's hot tears were a bosom-babe's food.
What marvel, O Statesmen, what marvel, I pray,
Such misery nurseth Crime's viperous brood?
No neighbourly welcome, no kind voice of kin;
They looked at each other, but spake not a word,
While through crevice, and cranny, the sleet drifted in.
In a desolate corner, one, hunger-killed, lay,
And the Mother's hot tears were a bosom-babe's food.
What marvel, O Statesmen, what marvel, I pray,
Such misery nurseth Crime's viperous brood?
O men, Angel-imaged in Nature's fair mint,
Is it for this, ye were fashioned divine?
Ah, where's the God-stamp—Immortality's print?
We are Tyrants and Slaves, knit in one tortured twine:
That a few, like to gods, may stride over the earth,
Millions are murdered, or given in pawn;
When will the world quicken for Liberty's birth,
Which she waiteth, with eager wings beating the dawn?
Is it for this, ye were fashioned divine?
Ah, where's the God-stamp—Immortality's print?
We are Tyrants and Slaves, knit in one tortured twine:
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Millions are murdered, or given in pawn;
When will the world quicken for Liberty's birth,
Which she waiteth, with eager wings beating the dawn?
False Priests, dare ye say 'tis the will of your God,
These things should be done 'neath His sheltering sky?
That millions of Paupers should bow to the sod?
Up, up, trampled hearts, it's a Lie! it's a Lie!
They may carve “State” and “Altar” in characters golden,
But Tyranny's symbols are ceasing to win;
Be stirring, O people, your Flag is unfolden,
And brave be the battles you blazon therein.
These things should be done 'neath His sheltering sky?
That millions of Paupers should bow to the sod?
Up, up, trampled hearts, it's a Lie! it's a Lie!
They may carve “State” and “Altar” in characters golden,
But Tyranny's symbols are ceasing to win;
Be stirring, O people, your Flag is unfolden,
And brave be the battles you blazon therein.
| My Lyrical Life | |