Poems of Optimism Part 5

And the open sea, and the open boat, And the deadly cannon with bellowing throat.

Oh, what are they all, with death thrown in, To the life that has nothing to lose or win -

The life that has nothing to hope or gain But ill-paid labour and beds of pain?

Fame, where is your story and where is your song For the martyrs of peace and the victims of wrong?

HOME

The greatest words are always solitaires, Set singly in one syllable; like birth, Life, love, hope, peace. I sing the worth Of that dear word toward which the whole world fares - I sing of home.

To make a home, we should take all of love And much of labour, patience, and keen joy; Then mix the elements of earth's alloy With finer things drawn from the realms above, The spirit home.

There should be music, melody and song; Beauty in every spot; an open door And generous sharing of the pleasure store With fellow-pilgrims as they pa.s.s along, Seeking for home.

Make ample room for silent friends--the books, That give so much and only ask for s.p.a.ce.

Nor let Utility crowd out the vase Which has no use save gracing by its looks The precious home.

To narrow bounds let mirrors lend their aid And multiply each gracious touch of art; And let the casual stranger feel the part - The great creative part--that love has played Within the home.

Here bring your best in thought and word and deed, Your sweetest acts, your highest self-control; Nor save them for some later hour and goal.

Here is the place, and now the time of need, Here in your home.

THE ETERNAL NOW

Time with his back against the mighty wall, Which hides from view all future joy and sorrow, Hears, without answer, the impatient call Of puny man, to tell him of to-morrow.

Moral, be wise, and to the silence bow, These useless and unquiet ways forsaking; Concern thyself with the Eternal Now - To-day hold all things, ready for thy taking.

IF I WERE A MAN, A YOUNG MAN

If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know to-day, I would look in the eyes of Life undaunted By any Fate that might threaten me.

I would give to the world what the world most wanted - Manhood that knows it can do and be; Courage that dares, and faith that can see Clear into the depths of the human soul, And find G.o.d there, and the ultimate goal, If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know to-day.

If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know to-day, I would think of myself as the masterful creature Of all the Masterful plan; The Formless Cause, with form and feature; The Power that heeds not limit or ban; Man, wonderful man.

I would do good deeds, and forget them straightway; I would weave my woes into ropes and climb Up to the heights of the helper's gateway; And Life should serve me, and Time, And I would sail out, and out, and find The treasures that lie in the deep sea, Mind.

I would dream, and think, and act; I would work, and love, and pray, Till each dream and vision grew into a fact, If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know to-day.

If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know to-day, I would guard my pa.s.sions as Kings guard treasures, And keep them high and clean.

(For the will of a man, with his pa.s.sions, measures; It is strong as they are keen.) I would think of each woman as some one's mother; I would think of each man as my own blood brother, And speed him along on his way.

And the glory of life in this wonderful hour Should fill me and thrill me with Conscious power, If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know to-day.

WE MUST SEND THEM OUT TO PLAY

Now much there is need of doing must not be done in haste; But slowly and with patience, as a jungle is changed to a town.

But listen, my brothers, listen; it is not always so: When a murderer's hand is lifted to kill, there is no time to waste; And the way to change his purpose is first to knock him down And teach him the law of kindness after you give him the blow.

The acorn you plant in the morning will not give shade at noon; And the thornless cactus must be bred by year on year of toil.

But listen, my brothers, listen; it is not ever the way, For the roots of the poison ivy plant you cannot pull too soon; If you would better your garden and make the most of your soil, Hurry and dig up the evil things and cast them out to-day.

The ancient sin of the nations no law can ever efface; We must wait for the mothers of men to grow, and give clean souls to their sons.

But listen, my brothers, listen--when a child cries out in pain, We must rise from the banquet board and go, though the host is saying grace; We must rise and find the Herod of Greed, who is killing our little ones, Nor ever go back to the banquet until the monster is slain.

The strong man waits for justice, with lifted soul and eyes, As a st.u.r.dy oak will face the storm, and does not break or bow.

But listen, my brothers, listen; the child is a child for a day; If a merciless foot treads down each shoot, how can the forest rise?

We are robbing the race when we rob a child; we must rescue the children NOW; We must rescue the little slaves of Greed and send them out to play.

PROTEST

To sit in silence when we should protest Makes cowards out of men. The human race Has climbed on protest. Had no voice been raised Against injustice, ignorance and l.u.s.t The Inquisition yet would serve the law And guillotines decide our least disputes.

The few who dare must speak and speak again To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank G.o.d, No vested power in this great day and land Can gag or throttle; Press and voice may cry Loud disapproval of existing ills, May criticise oppression and condemn The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws That let the children and child-bearers toil To purchase ease for idle millionaires, Therefore do I protest against the boast Of independence in this mighty land.

Call no chain strong which holds one rusted link, Call no land free that holds one fettered slave Until the manacled, slim wrists of babes Are loosed to toss in childish sport and glee, Until the Mother bears no burden save The precious one beneath her heart; until G.o.d's soil is rescued from the clutch of greed And given back to labour, let no man Call this the Land of Freedom.

REWARD

Fate used me meanly; but I looked at her and laughed, That none might know how bitter was the cup I quaffed.

Along came Joy, and paused beside me where I sat, Saying, 'I came to see what you were laughing at.'

THIS IS MY TASK

When the whole world resounds with rude alarms Of warring arms, When G.o.d's good earth, from border unto border Shows man's disorder, Let me not waste my dower of mortal might In grieving over wrongs I cannot right.