The Band of Gideon

THE band of Gideon roam the sky,

The howling wind is their war-cry,

The thunder roll is their trump's peal,

And the lightning flash their vengeful steel.

   Each black cloud

   Is a fiery steed.

   And they cry aloud

   With each strond deed,

"The sword of the lord and Gideon."

And men below rear temples high

And mock their God with reasons why,

And live in arrogance, sin and shame,

And rape their souls for the world's good name.

   Each black cloud

   Is a fiery steed.

   And they cry aloud

   With each strond deed,

"The sword of the lord and Gideon."

The band of Gideon roam the sky

And view the earth with baleful eye,

In holy wrath they scourge the land

With earth-quake, storm and burning brand.

   Each black cloud

   Is a fiery steed.

   And they cry aloud

   With each strond deed,

"The sword of the lord and Gideon."

The lightnings flash and the thunders roll,

And "Lord have mercy on my soul,"

Cry men as they fall on the stricken sod,

In agony searching for their God.

   Each black cloud

   Is a fiery steed.

   And they cry aloud

   With each strond deed,

"The sword of the lord and Gideon."

And men repent and then forget

That heavenly wrath they ever met,

The band of Gideon yet will come

And strike their tongues of blasphemy dumb.

   Each black cloud

   Is a fiery steed.

   And they cry aloud

   With each strond deed,

"The sword of the lord and Gideon."

The Mulatto to His Critics

ASHAMED of my race?

And of what race an I?

I am many in one.

Thru my veins runs the blood

Of Red Man, Black Man, Briton, Celt and Scot,

In warring clash and tumultuous riot.

I welcome all,

But love the blood of the kindly race

That swarthes my skin, crinkles my hair,

And puts sweet music into my soul.

A Prayer

AS I lie in bed,

Flat on my back;

There passes across my ceiling

An endless panaroma of things--

Quick steps of gay-voiced children,

Adolescence in its wondering silences,

Maid and man on moonlit summer's eve,

Women in the holy glow of Motherhood,

Old men gazing silently through the twilight

Into the beyond.

O God, give me words to make my dream-children live.

The Deserter

I KNOW not why or whence he came

   Or how he chanced to go;

I only know he brought me love,

   And going, left me woe.

I do not ask that he turn back

   Nor seek where he may rove,

For where woe rules can never be

   The dwelling place of love.

For love went out the door of hope

   And on and on has fled,

Caring no more to dwell within

   The house where faith is dead.

Is This the Price of Love?

NEVER again the sight of her?

   Never her winsome smile

Shall light the path of my journeying

   O'er many a weary mile?

Never again shall her soft voice come

   To cheer me all the while?

O Thou, who hearest from above,

Tell me, is this the price of love?

Never again the touch of her lips?

   Never her dark, brown eyes

Shall shine on me with the dancing joy

   Of stars in the summer skies?

Never again shall my song be aught

   Save minor chords of sighs?

O Thou, who hearest from above,

Tell me, is this the price of love?

Ego

DAY passeth day in sunshine or shadow,

    Night unto night each cycle is told;

Sun, moon and stars in whirling and glamour,

    All unto all the creation unfold.

What of the strivings, what of the gropings,

    Out from the darkness into the light?

What of the weepings, what of the grievings

    Now from the day to the passionate night?

Stars of the stars, heavens of the heavens,

    Rising or falling or pausing a span,

Each to the great "I am" replying

    E'en as the crystal, e'en as man.

Chant of the worlds from aeon to aeon,

    Song of the soul from dust unto dust,

Dream of the clods that, upward and starward,

    Rise to the call of the primal "Thou must."

Space beyond space, eternity's vision,

    Chaos to chaos, calm unto calm,

World beneath world, heaven above heaven,

    Life but the urge, death but the balm.

Dreams

THERE is naught in the pathless reach

Of the pale, blue sky above,

There is naught that the stars tell, each to each,

As over the heavens they rove;

That I have not felt, or have not seen

Clad in dull earth or fancy's sheen.

There is naught, in the still, mauve twilight

When the dreams come flitting by,

From lands afar of eternal night,

Or lands of the sunswept sky,

For countless spirits within me dwell

With heaven's efflugence or dark hell.

Then I Would Love You

WERE you to come,

With your clear, gray eyes

As calmly placid as, in summer's heat,

At noontide lie the sultry skies;

With your dark, brown hair

As smoothly quiet as the leaves

When stirs no cooling breath of air;

And shorn of smile, your full, red lips

Prest firmly close as the chaliced bud,

Before the nectar-quaffing bee ere sips;

I would not know you.

I would not love you.

But should you come

With your love-bright eyes

Dancing gaily as, on summer's eve,

The stars adown the Western skies;

With your hair, wind-caught

And circled round your shining face

In fashion which no hand ere wrought;

And your full, red lips poised saucily,

As the slender moon midst an hundred stars,

And held aloof in daring taunt to me,

Then I would know you,

Then I would love you.

I'm A-waiting and A-watching

I'M a-waiting and a-watching for the day that has no end.

For the sun that's ever shining, for its rays that ever blend;

For the light that casts no shadows, for the sky that's ever fair,

For the rose that's ever blooming as its fragrance fills the air.

I'm a-waiting and a watching for the land that knows no night;

Where the terrors of the darkness are dispelled in morning's light,

Where the murmurs of the breezes blend themselves into a song,

And the silvery carol echoes to the heavens, soft and long.

I'm a-waiting and a-watching for the song that's never o'er,

For the joy that's never ending on that light-emblazoned shore,

For the peace that shall enfold me with the heaven's holy breath,

For the glory that shall greet me, for the life that knows no death.

And What Shall You Say?

BROTHER, come!

And let us go unto our God.

And when we stand before Him

I shall say--

"Lord, I do not hate,

I am hated.

I scourge no one,

I am scourged.

I covet no lands,

My lands are coveted.

I mock no peoples,

My people are mocked."

And, brother, what will you say?

Is It Because I Am Black?

WHY do men smile when I speak,

And call my speech

The whimperings of a babe

That cries but knows not what it wants?

Is it because I am black?

Why do men sneer when I arise

And stand in their councils,

And look them eye to eye,

And speak their tongue?

Is it because I am black?

O, Little David, Play on Your Harp

O, Little David, play on your harp,

That ivory harp with the golden strings

And sing as you did in Jewry Land,

Of the Prince of Peace and the God of Love

And the coming Christ Immanuel.

O, Little David, play on your harp.

A seething world is gone stark mad;

And is drunk with the blood,

Gorged with the flesh,

Blinded with the ashes

Of her millions of dead.

From out it all and over all

There stands, years old and fully grown,

A monster in the guise of man.

He is of war and not of war;

Born in peace,

Nurtured in arrogant pride and greed,

World-creature is he and native to no land.

And war itself is merciful

When measured by his deeds.

Beneath the Crescent

Lie a people maimed;

Their only sin--

That they worship God.

On Russia's steppes

Is a race in tears;

Their one offense--

That they would be themselves.

On Flander's plains

Is a nation raped;

A bleeding gift

Of "Kultur's" conquering creed.

And in every land

Are black folk scourged;

Their only crime--

That they dare be men.

O, Little David, play on your harp,

That ivory harp with the golden strings

And psalm anew your songs of Peace,

Of the soothing calm of a Brotherly Love,

And the saving grace of a Mighty God.

O, Little David, play on your harp.

Sonnet to Negro Soldiers

THEY shall go down unto Life's Borderland,

    Walk unafraid within that Living Hell,

    Nor heed the driving rain of shot and shell

That 'round them falls; but with uplifted hand

Be one with mighty hosts, an arméd band

    Against man's wrong to man--for such full well

    They know. And from their trembling lips shall swell

A song of hope the world can understand.

All this to them shall be a glorious sign,

    A glimmer of that resurrection morn,

When age-long Faith crowned with a grace benign

    Shall rise and from their brows cast down the thorn

Of prejudice. E'en though through blood it be,

There breaks this day their dawn of Liberty.

Sonnet: And Thou art One--One with th' eternal hills

AND Thou art One--One with th' eternal hills,

And with the flaming stars, and with the moon,

Translucent, cold. The sentinel of noon

That clothes the sky in robes of light and fills

The earth with warmth, the flowering fields, the rills,

The waving trees, the south wind's elfin rune,

Are One with Thee. All nature is in tune

With Thee, O Father, God--and if one wills

To humbly walk the fragrant, leaf-strewn path

And kneel in reverence 'neath the vaulted sky,

Hearing the hymnals of the waving trees

And prayers of the soughing winds--what hath

He less of heaven in him than we, who cry,

"God in our creeds doth dwell and not in these?"

Sonnet: I would not tarry if I could be gone

I WOULD not tarry if I could be gone

   Adown the path where calls my eager mind.

   That fate which knows naught but to grip and bind

Holds me within its grasp, a helpless pawn,

And checks my steps when I would travel on.

   Forever shall my body lag behind,

   And in this Valley with the Moaning Wind

Must I abide with never a glimpse of dawn?

Though bends my body toward the yawning sod,

   I can endure the pain, the sorrows rife,

That hold me fast beneath their chastening rod,

   If from this turmoil and this endless strife,

Comes there a light to lead Man nearer God,

   And guide his footsteps toward the Larger Life.

Memories

THE burnished glow of the old-gold moon

Shines brightly over me.

A thousand stars, like a thousand isles

In a dark and placid sea,

Bring memories of a golden night,

Bedecked in Autumn's hue

And fragrant with the lilac's bloom,

That brought me joy--and you.

Love

LOVE is the soothing voice of gods

To which men ever list.

Love is the ease of soul's travail

And sorrow's alchemist.

Inconstancy

BLUE eyes, gray eyes,

All the eyes that be,

Hold within their changing depths

Wealth of charm to me.

Dark-eyed maid, of moment's fancy,

Gay as stars above;

Is it you that I adore,

Or is it Love I love?

An April Day

ON such a day as this I think,

On such a day as this,

When earth and sky and nature's whole

Are clad in April's bliss;

And balmy zephyrs gently waft

Upon your cheek a kiss;

Sufficient is it just to live

On such a day as this.

Supplication

I AM so tired and weary,

  So tired of the endless fight,

So weary of waiting the dawn

  And finding endless night.

That I ask but rest and quiet--

  Rest for days that are gone,

And quiet for the little space

  That I must journey on.

The Goal

I HAVE found joy,

   Surcease from sorrow,

From qualms for today

   And fears for tomorrow.

I have found love,

   Sifted of pain,

Of life's harsh goading

   And worldly disdain.

I have found peace,

   Still-borne from grief,

From soul's bitter mocking

   And heart's unbelief.

Now may I rest,

   Soul-glad and free,

For Lord, in the travil,

   I have found Thee.

Remembrance

FORGET?

Ah, never!

Your eyes, your voice, your lips.

Those little ways of love,

Half-childish yet all-wise

That held me but a slave to you,

Will never loose their bonds.

The power to forget

Would Fate but yield to me.

Remember?

Ah, too well!

The hurt, the pain, the grief.

The wrack of nightly dreams,

The ruth of brooding days,

Have left a lesion in my soul

That only Heaven can heal.

Remembrance is the lot

That Fate does hold for me.

November

OLD November, sere and brown,

Clothes the country, haunts the town,

Sheds its cloak of withered leaves,

Brings its sighing, soughing breeze.

Prophet of the dying year,

Builder of its funeral bier,

Bring your message here to men;

Sound it forth that they may ken

What of Life and what of Death

Linger on your frosty breath.

Let men know to you are given

Days of thanks to God in heaven;

Thanks for things which we deem best,

Thanks, O God, for all the rest

That have taught us--(trouble, strife,

Bring thru Death a larger life)--

Death of our base self and fear--

(Even as the dying year,

Though through cold and frost, shall bring

Forth a new and glorious spring)--

Shall shed over us the sway

Of a new and brighter day,

With Hope, Faith and Love alway.

To Florence

SISTER, when at the grassy mound I stand

Which holds in cold embrace thy mortal frame,

The tears unbidden rush into my mortal eyes

And wash away from me all save the sight

Of thy pure life and patient suffering.

And ever and anon comes memory

Of days gone by when health's bright sun did shine

Upon us both. And tho within the Cloud

I stand, content I am to think of thee

And live as best I may, till by thy side

In God's own time, I lay me down to rest.

Compensation

I PLUCKED a rose from out a bower fair,

  That overhung my garden seat;

And wondered I if, e'er before, bloomed there

  A rose so sweet.

Enwrapt in beauty I scarce felt the thorn

  That pricked me as I pulled the bud;

Till I beheld the rose that summer morn,

  Stained with my blood.

I sang a song that thrilled the evening air

  With beauty somewhat kin to love,

And all men know that lyric song so rare

  Came from above.

And men rejoice to hear the golden strain;

  But no man knew the price I paid,

Nor cared that out of my soul'd deathless pain

  The song was made.