| |
| HERE, down between the dusty trees, | |
| At this lank edge of haggard wood, | |
| Women with labor-loosened knees, | |
| With gaunt backs bowed by servitude, | |
| Stop, shift their loads, and pray, and fare | 5 |
| Forth with souls easier for the prayer. | |
| |
| The suns have branded black, the rains | |
| Striped gray this piteous God of theirs; | |
| The face is full of prayers and pains, | |
| To which they bring their pains and prayers; | 10 |
| Lean limbs that shew the laboring bones, | |
| And ghastly mouth that gapes and groans. | |
| |
| God of this grievous people, wrought | |
| After the likeness of their race, | |
| By faces like thine own besought, | 15 |
| Thine own blind helpless, eyeless face, | |
| I too, that have nor tongue nor knee | |
| For prayer, I have a word to thee. | |
| |
| It was for this then, that thy speech | |
| Was blown about the world in flame | 20 |
| And men’s souls shot up out of reach | |
| Of fear or lust or thwarting shame— | |
| That thy faith over souls should pass | |
| As sea-winds burning the grey grass? | |
| |
| It was for this, that prayers like these | 25 |
| Should spend themselves about thy feet, | |
| And with hard overlabored knees | |
| Kneeling, these slaves of men should beat | |
| Bosoms too lean to suckle sons | |
| And fruitless as their orisons? | 30 |
| |
| It was for this, that men should make | |
| Thy name a fetter on men’s necks, | |
| Poor men made poorer for thy sake, | |
| And women withered out of sex? | |
| It was for this, that slaves should be, | 35 |
| Thy word was passed to set men free? | |
| |
| The nineteenth wave of the ages rolls | |
| Now deathward since thy death and birth. | |
| Hast thou fed full men’s starved-out souls? | |
| Hast thou brought freedom upon earth? | 40 |
| Or are there less oppressions done | |
| In this wild world under the sun? | |
| |
| Nay, if indeed thou be not dead, | |
| Before thy terrene shrine be shaken, | |
| Look down, turn usward, bow thine head; | 45 |
| O thou that wast of God forsaken, | |
| Look on thine household here, and see | |
| These that have not forsaken thee. | |
| |
| Thy faith is fire upon their lips, | |
| Thy kingdom golden in their hands; | 50 |
| They scourge us with thy words for whips, | |
| They brand us with thy words for brands; | |
| The thirst that made thy dry throat shrink | |
| To their moist mouths commends the drink.… | |
| |
| O sacred head, O desecrate, | 55 |
| O labor-wounded feet and hands, | |
| O blood poured forth in pledge to fate | |
| Of nameless lives in divers lands, | |
| O slain and spent and sacrificed | |
| People, the grey-grown speechless Christ! | 60 |
| |
| Is there a gospel in the red | |
| Old witness of thy wide-mouthed wounds? | |
| From thy blind stricken tongueless head | |
| What desolate evangel sounds | |
| A hopeless note of hope deferred? | 65 |
| What word, if there be any word? | |
| |
| O son of man, beneath man’s feet | |
| Cast down, O common face of man | |
| Whereon all blows and buffets meet, | |
| O royal, O republican | 70 |
| Face of the people bruised and dumb | |
| And longing till thy kingdom come!… | |
| |
| The tree of faith ingraft by priests | |
| Puts its foul foliage out above thee, | |
| And round it feed man-eating beasts | 75 |
| Because of whom we dare not love thee; | |
| Though hearts reach back and memories ache, | |
| We cannot praise thee for their sake.… | |
| |
| Nay, if their God and thou be one, | |
| If thou and this thing be the same, | 80 |
| Thou shouldst not look upon the sun; | |
| The sun grows haggard at thy name. | |
| Come down, be done with, cease, give o’er; | |
| Hide thyself, strive not, be no more. | |
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