For war is swallowing up the sod
And still no help from Thee,

Thou, who art mighty, hast forgot;
And art Thou God, or art Thou not?
When wilt Thou come to save the earth
Where death has conquered birth?

And the Lord God whispered and said to me,
"These things shall be, these things shall be,
Nor help shall come from the scarlet skies,
Till the people arise!

Till the people rise, my arm is weak;

I cannot speak till the people speak;

When men are dumb, my voice is dumb—

I cannot come till my people come."

And the Lord God's presence was white, so white,

Like a pillar of stars against the night,

Millions on millions pray to me

Yet hearken not to hear me pray;
Nor comes there any to set me free
Of all who plead from night to day.
So God is mute and Heaven is still
While the nations kill.

"Thy people have travailed much," I cried,

"I travail even as they," God sighed.

"I have cradled their woe since the stars were young

My infant planets were scarcely hung

When I dreamed the dream of my liberty

And planned people to utter me.

I am the pang of their discontent,
The passion of their long lament;
I am the purpose of their pain,

I writhe beneath their chain."

"But Thou art mighty, and needst no aid.
Can God, the Infinite, be afraid?"
"They, too, are God, yet know it not.
'Tis they, not I, who have forgot.
And war is drinking the living sod,"
Said God.

"Thy people are fettered by iron laws
And each must follow a country's cause
And all are sworn to avenge their dead
How may the people rise?" I said.

And then God's face! It was white, so white,
With the grief that sorroweth day and night.

"Think you I planted my image there
That men should trample it to despair?
Who fears the throe that rebellion brings?"
"Help them stand, O Christ!" I prayed.
Thy people are feeble and sore afraid."
"My people are strong," God whispered me,
"Broad as the land, great as the sea;
They will tower as tall as the tallest skies
Up to the level of my eyes,
When they dare to rise.

Yea, all my people every where!
Not in one land of black despair
But over the flaming earth and sea
Wherever wrong and oppression be
The shout of my people must come to me.
Not till their spirit break the curse
May I claim my own in the universe;
And this the reason of war and blood
That men may come to their angelhood.
If the people rise, if the people rise,
I will answer them from the swarming skies
Where Herculean hosts of night

Shall spring to splendor over night,
Blazing systems of sun and star
Are not so great as my people are,
Nor chanting angels so sweet to hear
As the voice of nations, freed from fear.
They are my mouth, my breath, my soul!
I wait their summons to make me whole."

All night long I toss and cannot sleep;
When shattered heavens weep and weep,
As they have wept for many days.
I know at last 'tis God who prays.

ENVOI

JOHN G. NEIHARDT

Oh, seek me not within a tomb-
Thou shalt not find me in the clay!
I pierce a little wall of gloom
To mingle with the day!

I brothered with the things that pass,
Poor giddy joy and puckered grief;
I go to brother with the grass
And with the sunning leaf.

Not death can sheathe me in a shroud;
A joy-sword whetted keen with pain,
I join the armies of the cloud,
The lightning and the rain.

Oh, subtle in the sap a-thrill,
Athletic in the glad uplift,
A portion of the cosmic will,
I pierced the planet-drift.

My God and I shall interknit

As rain and ocean, breath and air;
And, oh, the luring thought of it
Is prayer!

PRAYER

ALFRED TENNYSON

From Idylls of the King

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore let thy voice

Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

For what are men better than sheep or goats

That nourish a blind life within the brain,

If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer

Both for themselves and those who call them friends?

For so the whole round earth is every way

Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.

A FAR CRY TO HEAVEN

EDITH M. THOMAS

What! dost thou pray that the outgone tide be rolled back on the strand,

The flame be rekindled that mounted away from the smouldering brand,

The past-summer harvest flow golden through stubble-lands naked and sere,

The winter-gray woods upgather and quicken the leaves of last year?

Thy prayers are as clouds in a drouth; regardless, unfruitful, they roll;

For this, that thou prayest vain things, 'tis a far cry to Heaven, my soul,—

Oh, a far cry to Heaven!

Thou dreamest the word shall return, shot arrow-like into the air,

The wound in the breast where it lodged be balmed and closed for thy prayer,

The ear of the dead be unsealed, till thou whisper a boon once

denied,

The white hour of life be restored, that passed thee unprized, undescribed!

Thy prayers are as runners that faint, that fail, within sight of the goal,

For this, that thou cravest fond things, 'tis a far cry to Heaven, my soul,

Oh, a far cry to Heaven!

And cravest thou fondly the quivering sands shall be firm to

thy feet,

The brackish pool of the waste to thy lips be made wholesome and sweet?

And cravest thou subtly the bane thou desirest be wrought to thy good,

As forth from a poisonous flower a bee convoyeth safe food? For this, that thou prayest ill things, thy prayers are an angerrent scroll,

The chamber of audit is closed,-'tis a far cry to Heaven, my soul,

Oh, a far cry to Heaven!

PRAYER

RICHARD C. TRENCH

Lord, what a change within us one short hour
Spent in Thy presence will avail to make!
What heavenly burdens from our bosoms take!
What parched grounds refresh as with a shower!
We kneel, and all around us seems to lower;

We rise, and all, the distant and the near,
Stands forth in sunny outline, brave and clear;
We kneel, how weak! we rise, how full of power!
Why, therefore, should we do ourselves this wrong,
Or others that we are not always strong-

That we are overborne with care

That we should ever weak or heartless be,
Anxious or troubled-when with us is prayer,
And joy and strength and courage are with Thee?

PRAYER

THOMAS WASHBOURNE

What a commanding power

There is in prayer! which can tower
As high as heaven, and tie the hands
Of God Himself in bands,