 | Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell |  |
319
A PROTEST.
Had he a grave or flippant mind,
Who sings, “Whatever is, is right?”
Or from a philosophic height,
Was he to evil worse than blind?
Who sings, “Whatever is, is right?”
Or from a philosophic height,
Was he to evil worse than blind?
Serene philosophy indeed,
Born in a somewhat shallow brain!
It looks upon the world in vain,
Nor knows the flower from the weed.
Born in a somewhat shallow brain!
It looks upon the world in vain,
Nor knows the flower from the weed.
For if it be, “what is, is right,”
Then let us laugh, and take our ease,
And devils triumph as they please,
And darkness reign where should be light.
Then let us laugh, and take our ease,
And devils triumph as they please,
And darkness reign where should be light.
Let Circe 'midst her swine-troughs dwell,
And ply at will her damning trade;
And in the day, not in the shade,
With siren songs lure men to hell.
And ply at will her damning trade;
320
With siren songs lure men to hell.
Let tavern-keepers curse and brawl,
And men the poisoned chalice drain,
That fires the heart, and dulls the brain,
And turns the sweets of life to gall.
And men the poisoned chalice drain,
That fires the heart, and dulls the brain,
And turns the sweets of life to gall.
Oh, rich men say if it is good
The poor should herd in crowded rooms,
'Mid stagnant air, and stifling glooms,
Where vices thrive, and fevers brood?
The poor should herd in crowded rooms,
'Mid stagnant air, and stifling glooms,
Where vices thrive, and fevers brood?
Who holds “'tis right” that ghastly war
Should raise on high its flaming torch,
To light men on their horrid march,
God's stamp in other men to mar?
Should raise on high its flaming torch,
To light men on their horrid march,
God's stamp in other men to mar?
Right is it thus in carnage dread,
To redden harvest fields with blood,
Forgetful of the holy rood,
And Prince of Peace that hung there dead?
To redden harvest fields with blood,
Forgetful of the holy rood,
And Prince of Peace that hung there dead?
What! right to bow at wealth's proud shrine?
That all be counted loss for gold?
Daughters in marriage-market sold,
To drink love's lees, and not its wine?
That all be counted loss for gold?
Daughters in marriage-market sold,
To drink love's lees, and not its wine?
321
Think of the frauds that curse the mart,
The lies that circulate on 'Change,
The wrongs that through our system range,
And sores that fester at the heart.
The lies that circulate on 'Change,
The wrongs that through our system range,
And sores that fester at the heart.
And are these “right”? Are they of God?
Does He look down on them and smile,
Approving hate, and lust, and guile,
Or does He not restrain the rod?
Does He look down on them and smile,
Approving hate, and lust, and guile,
Or does He not restrain the rod?
Statesmen that hold their country's good,
Less than their own poor selfish aims,
Lower than low ambition's claims—
Suits this the philosophic mood?
Less than their own poor selfish aims,
Lower than low ambition's claims—
Suits this the philosophic mood?
“Whatever is, is right,” you say,
Oh coward creed, and born of sloth,
And empty as the bubble-froth,
Blown by an infant at its play!
Oh coward creed, and born of sloth,
And empty as the bubble-froth,
Blown by an infant at its play!
Alas! on all sides thrives the wrong;
Then, let us up, and 'gainst it fight,
Resolved God's foes and man's to smite,
Like Jael in the old-world song.
Then, let us up, and 'gainst it fight,
Resolved God's foes and man's to smite,
Like Jael in the old-world song.
Thus if we do upon our way
To hopes that crown the eternal years,
Harvests that spring from seeds of tears,
Shall be reaped down in God's own day.
To hopes that crown the eternal years,
Harvests that spring from seeds of tears,
Shall be reaped down in God's own day.
322
Not ours to say, “What is, is right;”
'Tis God's with good to vanquish ill,
To make all things work out His will,
And on the darkness shed the light.
'Tis God's with good to vanquish ill,
To make all things work out His will,
And on the darkness shed the light.
| Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell | |