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Above the thunder of Thy Thunders, Lord, Lightening Thy Lightnings, Rings and roars The dark d.a.m.nation Of this h.e.l.l of war.
Red piles the pulp of hearts and heads And little children's hands.
Allah!
Elohim!
Very G.o.d of G.o.d!
Death is here!
Dead are the living; deep--dead the dead.
Dying are earth's unborn-- The babes' wide eyes of genius and of joy, Poems and prayers, sun-glows and earth-songs, Great-pictured dreams, Enmarbled phantasies, High hymning heavens--all In this dread night Writhe and shriek and choke and die This long ghost-night-- While Thou art dumb.
Have mercy!
Have mercy upon us, miserable sinners!
Stand forth, unveil Thy Face, Pour down the light That seethes above Thy Throne, And blaze this devil's dance to darkness!
Hear!
Speak!
In Christ's Great Name--
I hear!
Forgive me, G.o.d!
Above the thunder I hearkened; Beneath the silence, now,-- I hear!
(Wait, G.o.d, a little s.p.a.ce.
It is so strange to talk with Thee-- Alone!)
This gold?
I took it.
Is it Thine?
Forgive; I did not know.
Blood? Is it wet with blood?
'Tis from my brother's hands.
(I know; his hands are mine.) It flowed for Thee, O Lord.
War? Not so; not war-- Dominion, Lord, and over black, not white; Black, brown, and fawn, And not Thy Chosen Brood, O G.o.d, We murdered.
To build Thy Kingdom, To drape our wives and little ones, And set their souls a-glitter-- For this we killed these lesser breeds And civilized their dead, Raping red rubber, diamonds, cocoa, gold!
For this, too, once, and in Thy Name, I lynched a n.i.g.g.e.r--
(He raved and writhed, I heard him cry, I felt the life-light leap and lie, I saw him crackle there, on high, I watched him wither!)
_Thou?_ _Thee?_ _I lynched Thee?_
Awake me, G.o.d! I sleep!
What was that awful word Thou saidst?
That black and riven thing--was it Thee?
That gasp--was it Thine?
This pain--is it Thine?
Are, then, these bullets piercing Thee?
Have all the wars of all the world, Down all dim time, drawn blood from Thee?
Have all the lies and thefts and hates-- Is this Thy Crucifixion, G.o.d, And not that funny, little cross, With vinegar and thorns?
Is this Thy kingdom here, not there, This stone and stucco drift of dreams?
Help!
I sense that low and awful cry--
Who cries?
Who weeps?
With silent sob that rends and tears-- Can G.o.d sob?
Who prays?
I hear strong prayers throng by, Like mighty winds on dusky moors-- Can G.o.d pray?
Prayest Thou, Lord, and to me?
_Thou_ needest me?
Thou _needest_ me?
Thou needest _me_?
Poor, wounded soul!
Of this I never dreamed. I thought--
_Courage, G.o.d, I come!_
X
THE COMET
He stood a moment on the steps of the bank, watching the human river that swirled down Broadway. Few noticed him. Few ever noticed him save in a way that stung. He was outside the world--"nothing!" as he said bitterly. Bits of the words of the walkers came to him.
"The comet?"
"The comet----"
Everybody was talking of it. Even the president, as he entered, smiled patronizingly at him, and asked:
"Well, Jim, are you scared?"
"No," said the messenger shortly.
"I thought we'd journeyed through the comet's tail once," broke in the junior clerk affably.
"Oh, that was Halley's," said the president; "this is a new comet, quite a stranger, they say--wonderful, wonderful! I saw it last night. Oh, by the way, Jim," turning again to the messenger, "I want you to go down into the lower vaults today."
The messenger followed the president silently. Of course, they wanted _him_ to go down to the lower vaults. It was too dangerous for more valuable men. He smiled grimly and listened.
"Everything of value has been moved out since the water began to seep in," said the president; "but we miss two volumes of old records.
