So shall a man be after among the dead. TO WALT WHITMAN IN AMERICA Send but a song oversea for us, Heart of their hearts who are free, Heart of their singer, to be for us More than our singing can be; Ours, in the tempest at error, With no light but the twilight of terror; Send us a song oversea! Sweet-smelling of pine-leaves and grasses, And blown as a tree through and through With the winds of the keen mountain-passes, And tender as sun-smitten dew; Sharp-tongued as the winter that shakes The wastes of your limitless lakes, Wide-eyed as the sea-line's blue. O strong-winged soul with prophetic Lips hot with the bloodheats of song, With tremor of heartstrings magnetic, With thoughts as thunders in throng, With consonant ardours of chords That pierce men's souls as with swords And hale them hearing along, Make us too music, to be with us As a word from a world's heart warm, To sail the dark as a sea with us, Full-sailed, outsinging the storm, A song to put fire in our ears Whose burning shall burn up tears, Whose sign bid battle reform; A note in the ranks of a clarion, A word in the wind of cheer, To consume as with lightning the carrion That makes time foul for us here; In the air that our dead things infest A blast of the breath of the west, Till east way as west way is clear. Out of the sun beyond sunset, From the evening whence morning shall be, With the rollers in measureless onset, With the van of the storming sea, With the world-wide wind, with the breath That breaks ships driven upon death, With the passion of all things free, With the sea-steeds footless and frantic, White myriads for death to bestride In the charge of the ruining Atlantic Where deaths by regiments ride, With clouds and clamours of waters, With a long note shriller than slaughter's On the furrowless fields world-wide, With terror, with ardour and wonder, With the soul of the season that wakes When the weight of a whole year's thunder In the tidestream of autumn breaks, Let the flight of the wide-winged word Come over, come in and be heard, Take form and fire for our sakes. For a continent bloodless with travail Here toils and brawls as it can, And the web of it who shall unravel Of all that peer on the plan; Would fain grow men, but they grow not, And fain be free, but they know not One name for freedom and man? One name, not twain for division; One thing, not twain, from the birth; Spirit and substance and vision, Worth more than worship is worth; Unbeheld, unadored, undivined, The cause, the centre, the mind, The secret and sense of the earth. Here as a weakling in irons, Here as a weanling in bands, As a prey that the stake-net environs, Our life that we looked for stands; And the man-child naked and dear, Democracy, turns on us here Eyes trembling with tremulous hands It sees not what season shall bring to it Sweet fruit of its bitter desire; Few voices it hears yet sing to it, Few pulses of hearts reaspire; Foresees not time, nor forehears The noises of imminent years, Earthquake, and thunder, and fire: When crowned and weaponed and curbless It shall walk without helm or shield The bare burnt furrows and herbless Of war's last flame-stricken field, Till godlike, equal with time, It stand in the sun sublime, In the godhead of man revealed. Round your people and over them Light like raiment is drawn, Close as a garment to cover them Wrought not of mail nor of lawn; Here, with hope hardly to wear, Naked nations and bare Swim, sink, strike out for the dawn. Chains are here, and a prison, Kings, and subjects, and shame; If the God upon you be arisen, How should our songs be the same? How, in confusion of change, How shall we sing, in a strange Land, songs praising his name? God is buried and dead to us, Even the spirit of earth, Freedom; so have they said to us, Some with mocking and mirth, Some with heartbreak and tears; And a God without eyes, without ears, Who shall sing of him, dead in the birth? The earth-god Freedom, the lonely Face lightening, the footprint unshod, Not as one man crucified only Nor scourged with but one life's rod; The soul that is substance of nations, Reincarnate with fresh generations; The great god Man, which is God. But in weariest of years and obscurest Doth it live not at heart of all things, The one God and one spirit, a purest Life, fed from unstanchable springs? Within love, within hatred it is, And its seed in the stripe as the kiss, And in slaves is the germ, and in kings. Freedom we call it, for holier Name of the soul's there is none; Surelier it labours if slowlier, Than the metres of star or of sun; Slowlier than life into breath, Surelier than time into death, It moves till its labour be done. Till the motion be done and the measure Circling through season and clime, Slumber and sorrow and pleasure, Vision of virtue and crime; Till consummate with conquering eyes, A soul disembodied, it rise From the body transfigured of time. Till it rise and remain and take station With the stars of the worlds that rejoice; Till the voice of its heart's exultation Be as theirs an invariable voice; By no discord of evil estranged, By no pause, by no breach in it changed, By no clash in the chord of its choice. It is one with the world's generations, With the spirit, the star, and the sod; With the kingless and king-stricken nations, With the cross, and the chain, and the rod; The most high, the most secret, most lonely, The earth-soul Freedom, that only Lives, and that only is God. CHRISTMAS ANTIPHONES I--IN CHURCH Thou whose birth on earth Angels sang to men, While thy stars made mirth, Saviour, at thy birth, This day born again; As this night was bright With thy cradle-ray, Very light of light, Turn the wild world's night To thy perfect day. God whose feet made sweet Those wild ways they trod, From thy fragrant feet Staining field and street With the blood of God; God whose breast is rest In the time of strife, In thy secret breast Sheltering souls opprest From the heat of life; God whose eyes are skies Love-lit as with spheres By the lights that rise To thy watching eyes, Orbed lights of tears; God whose heart hath part In all grief that is, Was not man's the dart That went through thine heart, And the wound not his? Where the pale souls wail, Held in bonds of death, Where all spirits quail, Came thy Godhead pale Still from human breath - Pale from life and strife, Wan with manhood, came Forth of mortal life, Pierced as with a knife, Scarred as with a flame. Thou the Word and Lord In all time and space Heard, beheld, adored, With all ages poured Forth before thy face, Lord, what worth in earth Drew thee down to die? What therein was worth, Lord, thy death and birth? What beneath thy sky? Light above all love By thy love was lit, And brought down the Dove Feathered from above With the wings of it. From the height of night, Was not thine the star That led forth with might By no worldly light Wise men from afar? Yet the wise men's eyes Saw thee not more clear Than they saw thee rise Who in shepherd's guise Drew as poor men near. Yet thy poor endure, And are with us yet; Be thy name a sure Refuge for thy poor Whom men's eyes forget. Thou whose ways we praised, Clear alike and dark, Keep our works and ways This and all thy days Safe inside thine ark. Who shall keep thy sheep, Lord, and lose not one? Who save one shall keep, Lest the shepherds sleep? Who beside the Son? From the grave-deep wave, From the sword and flame, Thou, even thou, shalt save Souls of king and slave Only by thy Name. Light not born with morn Or her fires above, Jesus virgin-born, Held of men in scorn, Turn their scorn to love. Thou whose face gives grace As the sun's doth heat, Let thy sunbright face Lighten time and space Here beneath thy feet. Bid our peace increase, Thou that madest morn; Bid oppressions cease; Bid the night be peace; Bid the day be born. II--OUTSIDE CHURCH We whose days and ways All the night makes dark, What day shall we praise Of these weary days That our life-drops mark? We whose mind is blind, Fed with hope of nought; Wastes of worn mankind, Without heart or mind, Without meat or thought; We with strife of life Worn till all life cease, Want, a whetted knife, Sharpening strife on strife, How should we love peace? Ye whose meat is sweet And your wine-cup red, Us beneath your feet Hunger grinds as wheat, Grinds to make you bread. Ye whose night is bright With soft rest and heat, Clothed like day with light, Us the naked night Slays from street to street. Hath your God no rod, That ye tread so light? Man on us as God, God as man hath trod, Trod us down with might. We that one by one Bleed from either's rod. What for us hath done Man beneath the sun, What for us hath God? We whose blood is food Given your wealth to feed, From the Christless rood Red with no God's blood, But with man's indeed; How shall we that see Nightlong overhead Life, the flowerless tree, Nailed whereon as we Were our fathers dead - We whose ear can hear, Not whose tongue can name, Famine, ignorance, fear, Bleeding tear by tear Year by year of shame, Till the dry life die Out of bloodless breast, Out of beamless eye, Out of mouths that cry Till death feed with rest - How shall we as ye, Though ye bid us, pray? Though ye call, can we Hear you call, or see, Though ye show us day? We whose name is shame, We whose souls walk bare, Shall we call the same God as ye by name, Teach our lips your prayer? God, forgive and give, For His sake who died? Nay, for ours who live, How shall we forgive Thee, then, on our side? We whose right to light Heaven's high noon denies, Whom the blind beams smite That for you shine bright, And but burn our eyes, With what dreams of beams Shall we build up day, At what sourceless streams Seek to drink in dreams Ere they pass away? In what street shall meet, At what market-place, Your feet and our feet, With one goal to greet, Having run one race? What one hope shall ope For us all as one One same horoscope, Where the soul sees hope That outburns the sun? At what shrine what wine, At what board what bread, Salt as blood or brine, Shall we share in sign How we poor were fed? In what hour what power Shall we pray for morn, If your perfect hour, When all day bears flower, Not for us is born? III--BEYOND CHURCH Ye that weep in sleep, Souls and bodies bound, Ye that all night keep Watch for change, and weep That no change is found; Ye that cry and die, And the world goes on Without ear or eye, And the days go by Till all days are gone; Man shall do for you, Men the sons of man, What no God would do That they sought unto While the blind years ran. Brotherhood of good, Equal laws and rights, Freedom, whose sweet food Feeds the multitude All their days and nights With the bread full-fed Of her body blest And the soul's wine shed From her table spread Where the world is guest, Mingling me and thee, When like light of eyes Flashed through thee and me Truth shall make us free, Liberty make wise; These are they whom day Follows and gives light Whence they see to slay Night, and burn away All the seed of night. What of thine and mine, What of want and wealth, When one faith is wine For my heart and thine And one draught is health? For no sect elect Is the soul's wine poured And her table decked; Whom should man reject From man's common board? Gods refuse and choose, Grudge and sell and spare; None shall man refuse, None of all men lose, None leave out of care. No man's might of sight Knows that hour before; No man's hand hath might To put back that light For one hour the more. Not though all men call, Kneeling with void hands, Shall they see light fall Till it come for all Tribes of men and lands. No desire brings fire Down from heaven by prayer, Though man's vain desire Hang faith's wind-struck lyre Out in tuneless air. One hath breath and saith What the tune shall be - Time, who puts his breath Into life and death, Into earth and sea. To and fro years flow, Fill their tides and ebb, As his fingers go Weaving to and fro One unfinished web. All the range of change Hath its bounds therein, All the lives that range All the byways strange Named of death or sin. Star from far to star Speaks, and white moons wake, Watchful from afar What the night's ways are For the morning's sake. Many names and flames Pass and flash and fall, Night-begotten names, And the night reclaims, As she bare them, all. But the sun is one, And the sun's name Right; And when light is none Saving of the sun, All men shall have light. All shall see and be Parcel of the morn; Ay, though blind were we, None shall choose but see When that day is born. A NEW YEAR'S MESSAGE TO JOSEPH MAZZINI Send the stars light, but send not love to me. Shelley. I Out of the dawning heavens that hear Young wings and feet of the new year Move through their twilight, and shed round Soft showers of sound, Soothing the season with sweet rain, If greeting come to make me fain, What is it I can send again? 2 I know not if the year shall send Tidings to usward as a friend, And salutation, and such things Bear on his wings As the soul turns and thirsts unto With hungering eyes and lips that sue For that sweet food which makes all new. 3 I know not if his light shall be Darkness, or else light verily: I know but that it will not part Heart's faith from heart, Truth from the trust in truth, nor hope From sight of days unscaled that ope Beyond one poor year's horoscope. 4 That faith in love which love's self gives, O master of my spirit, lives, Having in presence unremoved Thine head beloved, The shadow of thee, the semitone Of thy voice heard at heart and known, The light of thee not set nor flown. 5 Seas, lands, and hours, can these divide Love from love's service, side from side, Though no sound pass nor breath be heard Of one good word? To send back words of trust to thee Were to send wings to love, when he With his own strong wings covers me. 6 Who shall teach singing to the spheres, Or motion to the flight of years? Let soul with soul keep hand in hand And understand, As in one same abiding-place
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