Part 4

Think not that incense-smoke has had its day. My friends, the incense-time has but begun. Creed upon creed, cult upon cult shall bloom, Shrine after shrine grow gray beneath the sun.

And mountain-boulders in our aged West Shall guard the graves of hermits truth-endowed: And there the scholar from the Chinese hills Shall do deep honor, with his wise head bowed.

And on our old, old plains some muddy stream, Dark as the Ganges, shall, like that strange tide-- (Whispering mystery to half the earth)-- Gather the praying millions to its side,

And flow past halls with statues in white stone To saints unborn to-day, whose lives of grace Shall make one shining, universal church Where all Faiths kneel, as brothers, in one place.

The Wedding of the Rose and the Lotos

The wide Pacific waters And the Atlantic meet. With cries of joy they mingle, In tides of love they greet. Above the drowned ages A wind of wooing blows:-- The red rose woos the lotos, The lotos woos the rose . . .

The lotos conquered Egypt. The rose was loved in Rome. Great India crowned the lotos: (Britain the rose's home). Old China crowned the lotos, They crowned it in Japan. But Christendom adored the rose Ere Christendom began . . .

The lotos speaks of slumber: The rose is as a dart. The lotos is Nirvana: The rose is Mary's heart. The rose is deathless, restless, The splendor of our pain: The flush and fire of labor That builds, not all in vain. . . .

The genius of the lotos Shall heal earth's too-much fret. The rose, in blinding glory, Shall waken Asia yet. Hail to their loves, ye peoples! Behold, a world-wind blows, That aids the ivory lotos To wed the red red rose!

King Arthur's Men Have Come Again

King Arthur's men have come again. They challenge everywhere The foes of Christ's Eternal Church. Her incense crowns the air. The heathen knighthood cower and curse To hear the bugles ring, BUT SPEARS ARE SET, THE CHARGE IS ON, WISE ARTHUR SHALL BE KING!

And Cromwell's men have come again, I meet them in the street. Stern but in this--no way of thorns Shall snare the children's feet. The reveling foemen wreak but waste, A sodden poisonous band. FIERCE CROMWELL BUILDS THE FLOWER-BRIGHT TOWNS, AND A MORE SUNLIT LAND!

And Lincoln's men have come again. Up from the South he flayed, The grandsons of his foes arise In his own cause arrayed. They rise for freedom and clean laws High laws, that shall endure. OUR GOD ESTABLISHES HIS ARM AND MAKES THE BATTLE SURE!

Foreign Missions in Battle Array

An endless line of splendor, These troops with heaven for home, With creeds they go from Scotland, With incense go from Rome. These, in the name of Jesus, Against the dark gods stand, They gird the earth with valor, They heed their King's command.

Onward the line advances, Shaking the hills with power, Slaying the hidden demons, The lions that devour. No bloodshed in the wrestling,-- But souls new-born arise-- The nations growing kinder, The child-hearts growing wise.

What is the final ending? The issue, can we know? Will Christ outlive Mohammed? Will Kali's altar go? This is our faith tremendous,-- Our wild hope, who shall scorn,-- That in the name of Jesus The world shall be reborn!

Star of My Heart

Star of my heart, I follow from afar. Sweet Love on high, lead on where shepherds are, Where Time is not, and only dreamers are. Star from of old, the Magi-Kings are dead And a foolish Saxon seeks the manger-bed. O lead me to Jehovah's child Across this dreamland lone and wild, Then will I speak this prayer unsaid, And kiss his little haloed head-- "My star and I, we love thee, little child."

Except the Christ be born again to-night In dreams of all men, saints and sons of shame, The world will never see his kingdom bright. Stars of all hearts, lead onward thro' the night Past death-black deserts, doubts without a name, Past hills of pain and mountains of new sin To that far sky where mystic births begin, Where dreaming ears the angel-song shall win. Our Christmas shall be rare at dawning there, And each shall find his brother fair, Like a little child within: All hearts of the earth shall find new birth And wake, no more to sin.

Look You, I'll Go Pray

Look you, I'll go pray, My shame is crying, My soul is gray and faint, My faith is dying. Look you, I'll go pray-- "Sweet Mary, make me clean, Thou rainstorm of the soul, Thou wine from worlds unseen."

At Mass

No doubt to-morrow I will hide My face from you, my King. Let me rejoice this Sunday noon, And kneel while gray priests sing.

It is not wisdom to forget. But since it is my fate Fill thou my soul with hidden wine To make this white hour great.

My God, my God, this marvelous hour I am your son I know. Once in a thousand days your voice Has laid temptation low.

Heart of God

O great heart of God, Once vague and lost to me, Why do I throb with your throb to-night, In this land, eternity?