Part 14

And I think of narrow prisons Where unhappy songbirds dwell, And of cruel pens and cages Where some captured wild thing rages Like a madman in his cell, In the Zoo, the wild beasts’ hell.

And I long to lift the burden Of man’s selfishness and sin; And to open wide earth’s treasures Of God’s storehouse, full of pleasures, For my dumb and human kin, And to ask the whole world in.

THE BREAKING OF CHAINS

Between the ringing of bells and the musical clang of chimes I hear a sound like the breaking of chains, all through these Christmas times. For the thought of the world is waking out of a slumber deep and long, And the race is beginning to understand how Right can master Wrong.

And the eyes of the world are opening wide, and great are the truths they see; And the heart of the world is singing a song, and its burden is ‘Be free!’ Now the thought of the world and the wish of the world and the song of the world will make A force so strong that the fetters forged for a million years must break.

Fetters of superstitious fear have bound the race to creeds That hindered the upward march of man to the larger faith he needs. Fetters of greed and pride have made the race bow down to kings; But the pompous creed and the costly throne must yield to simpler things.

The thought of the world has climbed above old paths for centuries trod; And cloth and crown no longer mean the ‘vested power of God.’ The race no longer bends beneath the weight of Adam’s sin, But stands erect and knows itself the Maker’s first of kin.

And the need of the world and the wish of the world and the song of the world I hear, All through the clanging and clashing of bells, this Christmas time o’ the year; And I hear a sound like the breaking of chains, and it seems to say to me, In the voice of One who spoke of old, ‘The Truth shall make men free.’

DECEMBER

Upon December’s windy portico The Old Year stood, and looked out where the sun Went wading down the West, through drifting clouds. ‘I, too, shall sink full soon to rest,’ he sighed, ‘And follow where my children’s feet have trod; Brave January, beauteous May and June, My lovely daughters, and my valiant sons, All, all save one, have left me for that bourne Men call the Past. It seems but yesterday I saw fair August, laughing with the Sea, Snaring the Earth with her seductive wiles, And making conquest, even of the Sun. Yet has she gone, and left me here to mourn.’ Then spake December, from an open door: ‘Father, the night grows cold; come in and rest. Sit with me here beside this glowing grate; I have not left thee; thou art not alone; My house is thine; all warm with love and light, And bright with holly and with cedar sweet. My stalwart arm is thine to lean upon; The feast is spread, I only wait for thee; God smiles upon thy dead, smile thou on me.’ Then through the open door the Old Year passed And darkness settled on the outer world.

‘THE WAY’

However certain of the way thou art, Take not the self-appointed leader’s part. Follow no man, and by no man be led, And no man lead. Awake, and go ahead. Thy path, though leading straight unto the goal Might prove confusing to another soul. The goal is central; but from east, and west, And north, and south, we set out on the quest; From lofty mountains, and from valleys low:— How could all find one common way to go?

Lord Buddha to the wilderness was brought. Lord Jesus to the Cross. And yet, think not By solitude, or cross, thou canst achieve, Lest in thine own true Self thou dost believe. Know thou art One, with life’s Almighty Source, Then are thy feet set on the certain Course.

Nor does it matter if thou feast, or fast, Or what thy creed—or where thy lot is cast; In halls of pleasure or in crowded mart, In city streets, or from all men apart— Thy path leads to the Light; and peace and power Shall be thy portion, growing hour by hour. Follow no man, and by no man be led. And no man lead. But know and go ahead.

THE LEADER TO BE

What shall the leader be in that great day When we who sleep and dream that we are slaves Shall wake and know that Liberty is ours? Mark well that word—not yours, not mine, but ours. For through the mingling of the separate streams Of individual protest and desire, In one united sea of purpose, lies The course to Freedom.

When Progression takes Her undisputed right of way, and sinks The old traditions and conventions where They may not rise, what shall the leader be?

No mighty warrior skilled in crafts of war, Sowing earth’s fertile furrows with dead men And staining crimson God’s cerulean sea, To prove his prowess to a shuddering world.

Nor yet a monarch with a silly crown Perched on an empty head, an in-bred heir To senseless titles and anemic blood.

No ruler, purchased by the perjured votes Of striving demagogues whose god is gold. Not one of these shall lead to Liberty. The weakness of the world cries out for strength. The sorrow of the world cries out for hope. Its suffering cries for kindness.

He who leads Must then be strong and hopeful as the dawn That rises unafraid and full of joy Above the blackness of the darkest night. He must be kind to every living thing; Kind as the Krishna, Buddha and the Christ, And full of love for all created life. Oh, not in war shall his great prowess lie, Nor shall he find his pleasure in the chase. Too great for slaughter, friend of man and beast, Touching the borders of the Unseen Realms And bringing down to earth their mystic fires To light our troubled pathways, wise and kind And human to the core, so shall he be, The coming leader of the coming time.

THE GREATER LOVE

Hear thou my prayer, great God of opulence; Give me no blessings, save as recompense For blessings which I lovingly bestow On needy stranger or on suffering foe. If Wealth, by chance, should on my path appear, Let Wisdom and Benevolence stand near, And Charity within my portal wait, To guard me from acquaintance intimate.

Yet in this intricate great art of living Guide me away from misdirected giving, And show me how to spur the laggard soul To strive alone once more to gain the goal.

Repay my worldly efforts to attain Only as I develop heart and brain; Nor brand me with the ‘Dollar Sign’ above A bosom void of sympathy and love.

If on the carrying winds my name be blown To any land or time beyond my own, Let it not be as one who gained the day By crowding others from the chosen way; Rather as one who missed the highest place Pausing to cheer spent runners in the race. To do—to have—is lesser than to BE: The greater boon I ask, dear God, from Thee.

THANK GOD FOR LIFE

Thank God for life, in such an age as this, Rich with the promises of better things. Thank God for being part of this great nation’s heart, Whose strong pulsations are not ruled by kings.