"All souls are Thine; the wings of morning

bear

None from that Presence which is everywhere, Nor hell itself can hide, for Thou art there.

66

Through sins of sense, perversities of will,

Through doubt and pain, through guilt and shame and ill,

Thy pitying eye is on Thy creature still.

"Wilt thou not make, Eternal Source and Goal! In Thy long years, life's broken circle whole, And change to praise the cry of a lost soul?"

A

CROSS the sea I heard the groans

Of nations in the intervals

Of wind and wave.

Their blood and bones

Cried out in torture, crushed by thrones, And sucked by priestly cannibals.

I dreamed of freedom slowly gained
By martyr meekness, patience, faith.
And lo! an athlete grimly stained,
With corded muscles battle-strained,
Shouting it from the fields of death!

I turn me, awe-struck, from the sight,

Among the clamoring thousands mute, I only know that God is right,

And that the children of the light

Shall tread the darkness under foot.

I know the pent fire heaves its crust,
That sultry skies the bolt will form
To smite them clear; that Nature must
The balance of her powers adjust,

Though with the earthquake and the storm.

God reigns, and let the earth rejoice!
I bow before His sterner plan.
Dumb are the organs of my choice;
He speaks in battle's stormy voice,

His praise is in the wrath of man!

Yet, surely as He lives, the day

Of peace He promised shall be ours, To fold the flags of war, and lay

Its sword and spear to rust away,

And sow its ghastly fields with flowers!

O bird-song floated down the hill,

No hill, N°

The tangled bank below was still;

The dusk of twilight round us grew,
We felt the falling of the dew;

For, from us, ere the day was done,
The wooded hills shut out the sun.