Part 4

WRITTEN FOR THE CHARING CROSS ALBUM

SEEN, too clear and historic within us, our sins of omission Frown when the Autumn days strike us all ruthlessly bare. They of our mortal diseases find never healing physician; Errors they of the soul, past the one hope to repair.

Sunshine might we have been unto seed under soil, or have scattered Seed to ascendant suns brighter than any that shone. Even the limp-legged beggar a sick desperado has flattered Back to a half-sloughed life cheered by the mere human tone.

ALTERNATION

BETWEEN the fountain and the rill I passed, and saw the mighty will To leap at sky; the careless run, As earth would lead her little son.

Beneath them throbs an urgent well, That here is play, and there is war. I know not which had most to tell Of whence we spring and what we are.

HAWARDEN

WHEN comes the lighted day for men to read Life's meaning, with the work before their hands Till this good gift of breath from debt is freed, Earth will not hear her children's wailful bands Deplore the chieftain fall'n in sob and dirge; Nor they look where is darkness, but on high. The sun that dropped down our horizon's verge, Illumes his labours through the travelled sky, Now seen in sum, most glorious; and 'tis known By what our warrior wrought we hold him fast. A splendid image built of man has flown; His deeds inspired of God outstep a Past. Ours the great privilege to have had one Among us who celestial tasks has done.

AT THE CLOSE

TO Thee, dear God of Mercy, both appeal, Who straightway sound the call to arms. Thou know'st; And that black spot in each embattled host, Spring of the blood-stream, later wilt reveal. Now is it red artillery and white steel; Till on a day will ring the victor's boast, That 'tis Thy chosen towers uppermost, Where Thy rejected grovels under heel. So in all times of man's descent insane To brute, did strength and craft combining strike, Even as a God of Armies, his fell blow. But at the close he entered Thy domain, Dear God of Mercy, and if lion-like He tore the fall'n, the Eternal was his Foe.

FOREST HISTORY

BENEATH the vans of doom did men pass in. Heroic who came out; for round them hung A wavering phantom's red volcano tongue, With league-long lizard tail and fishy fin:

Old Earth's original Dragon; there retired To his last fastness; overthrown by few. Him a laborious thrust of roadway slew. Then man to play devorant straight was fired.

III

More intimate became the forest fear While pillared darkness hatched malicious life At either elbow, wolf or gnome or knife And wary slid the glance from ear to ear.

In chillness, like a clouded lantern-ray, The forest's heart of fog on mossed morass, On purple pool and silky cotton-grass, Revealed where lured the swallower byway.

Dead outlook, flattened back with hard rebound Off walls of distance, left each mounted height. It seemed a giant hag-fiend, churning spite Of humble human being, held the ground.

Through friendless wastes, through treacherous woodland, slow The feet sustained by track of feet pursued Pained steps, and found the common brotherhood By sign of Heaven indifferent, Nature foe.

VII

Anon a mason's work amazed the sight, And long-frocked men, called Brothers, there abode. They pointed up, bowed head, and dug and sowed; Whereof was shelter, loaf, and warm firelight.

VIII

What words they taught were nails to scratch the head. Benignant works explained the chanting brood. Their monastery lit black solitude, As one might think a star that heavenward led.

Uprose a fairer nest for weary feet, Like some gold flower nightly inward curled, Where gentle maidens fled a roaring world, Or played with it, and had their white retreat.

Into big books of metal clasps they pored. They governed, even as men; they welcomed lays. The treasures women are whose aim is praise, Was shown in them: the Garden half restored.

A deluge billow scoured the land off seas, With widened jaws, and slaughter was its foam. For food, for clothing, ambush, refuge, home, The lesser savage offered bogs and trees.

XII

Whence reverence round grey-haired story grew: And inmost spots of ancient horror shone As temples under beams of trials bygone; For in them sang brave times with God in view.

XIII