PILGRIMAGE OF GRACE VERSES ON A MISSION BY IARTHUR SHEARLY CRIPPS L^"*^ AUTHOR OF "LYRA EVANGELISTICA," " FAERYLANDS FORLORN," "THE BROODING EARTH," ETC. B. H. BLACKWELL, BROAD STREET Xonfcon SIMPKIN, MARSHALL & CO., LIMITED MCMXII NOTE. / should thank the Editors of " The South African Church Chronicle," and " The Treasury," and the Editress of "An Anthology of Essex," for leave to reprint certain lines. A. S. C. MARONDA MASHANU, NEAR ENKBLDOORN, MASHONALAND. / DEDICATE THESE VERSES TO MY SISTER AND GUIDE AMONG BOOKS (EDITH KATE CRIPPS). /"* RA CE should you find in any southern song, Or southern tale, or southern dream of mine, And you would hear the truth, I tell it now. With her to teach, could any ears be slow To hear dead voices shout a live day long Words of the wise, as goads and spurs that shine, Rowelling men on errantries Divine? I did not learn alone. She taught me how To race and battle, bearing in my heart The routed's anguish, and the outruns smart. I did not learn alone, she lessoned me, Long since in Kent beyond the northern sea Leaf -spoil of lordly trees she sought to mend This garden-plot, that in the south I tend. PILGRIMAGE OF GRACE. JA.D. 1536.) IA.D. 1912.) JX7ITH steel at side and flint-set face, Aske roused the northern chivalry. He said, " Christ suffers murder base And southern cowards forsake and flee." " His Blood," he said, " ebbs piteously ; From Hands, Feet, Side, the runnels race, His Five Wounds bear for emblems, ye, And go His Pilgrimage of Grace!" Withdrawn from out their world a space Commons and gentles of degree They knelt within the holy place Beneath the Rood's overshadowing Tree. They lifted up their eyes to see On those tense Limbs the Fivefold trace Of love and eke of cruelty, Then went their Pilgrimage of Grace. The strangling snake-coils to unlace The Virgin Bride of Christ to free They rushed upon their fates apace, They lost, they paid, a-dust they be. How sage their folly seems to me, For little longer were the days Of men that dealt more prudently, And went no Pilgrimage of Grace. Now southward ho! With knightly glee Our dark Wounds' quarrel to embrace: A mind to mend God's Hurts have we, Who go His Pilgrimage of Grace. CONTENTS. HUTS WHERE POOR MEN LIE. The Drum . . . . . . 3 The Threshing . . . . . . 6 Troth Pagan . . . . . . 8 A Cattle Marriage . . . . 10 The Hill of the Slain .. .. n Summer Song . . . . . . 12 Prothalamion . . . . . . 13 Day's End and Year's End . . 23 Pots and Potters . . . . . . 24 A Dead Mashona . . . . . . 25 Pan's Country . . . . . . 27 PHILISTIA. Balaam . . . . . . . . 31 A House Divided . . . . . . 32 ^^f A Christmas Carol . . . . 33 x The Black Christ . . . . . . 34 Saint Paul . . . . . . 36 To Their Rulers . . . . . . 37 Stars and Men . . . . . . 39 Stars over Veld . . . . . . 40 The Peace-Offering . . . . 42 Black Peril . . . . . . 45 CONTENTS. To a Certain Colony reputed English 47 Lazarus . . . . . . . . 49 Tolstoi . . . . . . . . 50 On a Lady Chapel . . . . 51 Victrix causa deis placuit .. .. 52 SHE THAT SENT us FORTH. Apologia . . . . . . 55 Oxford sub Cruce . . . . 56 The Way of England . . . . 59 To and Fro . . . . . . 60 The Term of Exile .. .. 61 Spring in the South . . . . 62 Super Flumina . . . . . . 63 Primavera . . . . . . 65 Kent .. .. .. .. 66 Essex . . . . . . . . 67 Changeling Lands . . . . 68 Autumn Nocturnes . . . . 69 May-Day .. .. .. 71 With a great sum obtained I this freedom 73 Midwinter Song . . . . . . 74 To the Year . . . . . . 75 One Year Ago . . . . . . 76 The Pilgrims' Way . . . . 78 ROAD OF GRACE. Home with Dawn . . . . 83 By a Summer Camp-Fire . . . . 84 Palace Windows . , 86 CONTENTS. xi. The Comet .. .. .. 87 The Wilderness . . . . . . 88 New Heart, New Hope . . . . 90 Viaticum . . . . . . 91 Pervigilium Christi . . . . 92 Pilgrim's Progress .. .. 93 Pilgrim's Rest .. .. .. 94 Rest and Light . . . . . . 95 Wintry Dawn . . . . . . 96 Waggon Song . . . . . . 97 Faith Song . . . . . . 98 Levavi Oculos . . . . . . 99 The Home Path . . . . . . 100 The Way of the Wilderness . . 101 Veld Grass Unfired .. .. 102 Joy of Venture . . . . . . 103 Southern Silence . . . . . . 105 Roadside Altars . . . . . . 106 A Franciscan Thanksgiving . . 107 B 2 HUTS WHERE POOR MEN LIE. " Love bad he found in huts where poor men lie." Wordsworth. THE DRUM. [The scene is laid at a village dance in Spring-time. The dance-drum (fashioned of bull's hide and the wood of a crimson-flow 'ring tree) is thudding out its refrain.] it TDEAT! Beat! Beat!" Drum, that dost set our feet Stepping a-step with Spring ! n. O Hide and Prophet-tree (Tree in ice-blooded hours Kindling with heart's red flow'rs,) A lusty son gat ye : Hark how he throbs with Spring ! " Beat ! Beat ! Beat ! " She with the wild buck's feet Steps it a-step with Spring ! HUTS WHERE POOR MEN LIE. IV. The tree speaks in the drum, " Now ! Now ! " I hear it hum, " Red sprays of ours are stirred By the flow'r-sucking bird : Now, now, or miss the Spring 1 " v. Hark to the bellowing hide " Now ! Now ! Go, snatch a bride 1 Paid are those kindred mine * Dark hornless heifer kine Is there nought yet to pay On some rock's bride -bed grey This self-same night of Spring ? " VI. "Nay! Nay! Nay I O satyr drum," I say, " Time was I would obey Ere that I read aright Yon silver-script of night. Far o'er us dancers' heads God writes in fiery beads ; Four stars from out the south f Bid me but kiss her mouth * Cattle-prices are paid for brides in Mashonaland. t The Southern Cross. THE DRUM. Ere yet we vow with ring Not to leave hold on Spring. VII. " Soon ? Soon ? Soon ? " Yea, ere another moon We two would vow our Spring. VIII. "Me! Me! Me!" Yea, we have bidden thee, Drum, with thy thud's delight To thrill our marriage-night. Did not thy wood once wear Blooms for some lucky year ? Was not that tense hide paid To win some lucky maid In some forgotten Spring ? HUTS WHERE POOR MEN LIE. THE THRESHING. [The threshing of the Mashonaland millet-corn, which affords much food and beer.] T ONG winter weeks our millet-god hath lain Low in his passion on the rock-floor grey Our pomp of harvest rites rehearse again, In sacred glee be this our victim slain, Sing we the song of all the songs to-day, Tread we in time, the dancing time to-day, The best of all our year begins to-day ! ii. Hearken the smiters beat With stamp of choric feet, And lyric strophe and antistrophe Mellow their love, but mad their cruelty ! How sternly to sweet chanting, clubs will smite Hour after hour till night ! in. What cloudy mysteries on the breeze are blown Above the votive stone ! In hazes golden-dim Float free the robes of him ! THE THRESHING. While on the rock his oblate flesh is red, Whereby man's life is fed. IV. O lyric god, lacchos of our land, Kind to thy smiters all, Feed thou our folk ! No maenad frenzy fall Upon their heedless band Should they in earthen bowl by fire set free The mocking soul of thee ! HUTS WHERE POOR MEN LIE. TROTH PAGAN. (In Springtime), HpHE flow'rs are on the wold, The flow'rs are on the tree, No more a-cold we sleep. Sick is thy mother old, Sadly she 'plains for thee To hoe her furrows deep. We watch our broods again, Fearing the hov'ring greed Of grey hawks nesting now. The north wind blows for rain, Sons to their sires make speed, Alas ! why tarriest thou ? Unto some master grim, Some bearded farmer sly, Bond-service dost thou owe ? Five months beseech of him, Five months should he deny Hast thou no feet to go ? TROTH PAGAN. Glad with the Spring's green cheer, Hard by my father's home, Loud low my marriage kine. Art thou too far to hear ? Hast thou no care to come ? House I no babe of thine ? io HUTS WHERE POOR MEN LIE. A CATTLE MARRIAGE. kine I gave so she for me might plow A fruitful field within a fruitful field, Brown earth she turns my russet grain to yield, This browner girl, whose goatskin bears my son. Three am I grown, who ere I gave was one. I gave five cattle. Them I grudge not now. THE HILL OF THE SLAIN. THE HILL OF THE SLAIN. [On or about it many were killed in the Mashona "Rebellion," 1896.] T_T ERE on this hill did many patriots die Looking a wide last look on land and sky. Hark ! was it only that a wind went by ? Or was it some strained bough or night-beast shy ? Or was it haply ? Nay, I know not, I. Here where we stand, an altar-stone is nigh And souls or saints will under altars sigh, Blood, too, at whiles will cry. HUTS WHERE POOR MEN LIE. SUMMER SONG. dingy black clouds, welcome in our need! Swoop to our south, on norland breezes blown 1 Come, dingy clouds, and deign our folk to feed ! For we are weary of the suns on high Those white-men arrogant that saunter down The rich blue pleasaunce of a rainless sky. Come, dingy clouds, our dingy black folk feed ! Little those suns our tilths or harvests heed Save to contemn them with a parching frown. Dark fleeces, wrap the hills lest goatherds die, Slake the ripe red lips of the millet seed, Splash down in affluent silver smit with gold For see the sun remorseful beams on you, Kindling your gloom to pomps of glimmering hue A sun more noble than the suns of old ! PROTHALAMION. 13 PROTHALAMION. [For two comrades married at a Mission Station east of mine, Epiphany, 1910.] \X7ATCH, herdmen, watch, some lucky star to spy! One Nowell night as this, the star-led three Trudged with tired feet earth's happiest home to see. What is yon star new-risen o'er Wedza high Ruddy as Mars its dye ? E'en as we gaze, eastward it 'gins to flee. Plowmen and herdmen, let us follow fast ! Some Holy Hearth, some Sacred Family Haply shall greet our pilgrim eyes at last, When we have Sawi past. But first before our Christmas Byre we'll pray To him that swollen ford and storm obey, Lest weather-harms beset our path with fear, Lest levin bolt or surging flood affray. Next, road of ours to cheer Sing we a burthen clear : c 14 HUTS WHERE POOR MEN LIE. " Wear green for hope, grave hills and wistful plain ! Shine, morning without clouds, clear-shining after rain ! " With joys as stars for number, forth we sped. Night fell again. In drunken passion strong Did Sawi meet us, loud his brawling song Of gold and spears and towers, and altars red To slake the thirsty dead. Him we outsang, and singing passed along Our foamy path, hand linked with hand in chain. Then up dark Wedza's gorge a lusty throng We toiled and panted yet our glad refrain (Was not our guide-star plain ?) Spurred on and goaded fast by pricks of light, Small time we stayed aside our camp-fires bright Those nights of stars. We sang on rocky wold, We sang in rock-sown water gnashing white, Loudest at cock-crow cold Sun's joy our song foretold : " Wear green for hope, grave hills and wistful plain ! Shine morning without clouds, clear-shining after rain ! " PROTHALAMION. 15 in. Lo ! with the sunrise that fourth morn we came To where a fane of many arches stood (The sovran star of all the starry brood Its sponsor was Epiphany its name.) Ah ! see its pillars flame With hot marsh-blooms, and lilies dipped in blood, And golden trumpet-lilies purple-dyed ! See how the folk throng thick beneath the Rood About that bridegroom pale, and rosy bride, Whose hands the priest hath tied ! No goatherd small but leaves his goats to-day, Yet do the swart flocks thro' no garden stray ; No crow nor ape the unwatched corn hath marred ; O'er herd and garden while in church we pray Angels in ranks keep ward, Singing at change of guard, " Wear green for hope, grave hills and wistful plain ! Shine morning without clouds, clear-shining after rain ! " IV. Behold the knot is fast ! The bell is rung, The priest hath set the orient Sacrifice ; In at the windows rayed as suns that rise, c 2 16 HUTS WHERE POOR MEN LIE. Fair Angels, emulous of those children young Look as their hymn is sung ! Sing, dusk-brown babes, that are so near the skies, The little height that's left your light hearts toss ! Now while these twain Love on the Altar ties And (wood in order laid of blazing cross) Burns for God's gain, world's loss, Sing to the Lamb I Dance, hearts before the Lord In yon white Orb uplifted and adored ! Up, incense, up ! Rise, land of Ophir, shine ! If strangers filch thy gold, thy myrrh afford ! Lift all brute sores of thine To those Five Wounds Divine 1 " Wear green for hope, grave hills, and wistful plain ! Shine, morning without clouds, clear-shining after rain 1 " v. Who are these twain our Shepherd Good hath fed? A shepherd he. Lo ! She as shepherdess Hath come the hurts of desert sheep to dress. Times go by turns. How many a daybreak red Hath to foul weather led : PROTHALAMION. 17 Times go by turns. With lovelier tenderness Sun triumphs here, where rain-wind sighed of late (O shepherd, I have seen thy lone distress !) Times go by turns. To-day bring home thy mate, Builder of folds so great 1 This shepherdess the ewes shall trust as friend She loves so well their dark-fleeced lambs to tend. Sing, swain, of scanty breath but venturous heart ! Sing, for thy forlorn days this day have end (The rain hath played its part To make thee what thou art) " Wear green for hope, grave hills and wistful plain ! Shine, morning without clouds, clear-shining after rain ! " VI. Now, clip your cheeks, and shrill your lo shout ! Let the drums thunder and the harp-gourds ring ! Gold flowers and white in profuse glory fling Along their path, and all their path about, Or ever they come out ! So to the feast with them, and going sing, And dance before with feint of axe and spear 1 i8 HUTS WHERE POOR MEN LIE. Them to their hearth with roar of welcome bring Where logs are burning rich in ruddy cheer, As though the night were near ! Sprinkle blest water, sign with Sign of Grace ! Lest spell of evil-eye should bind the place, Or witch with howling horse or whelps conspire Or alien sprites wreak envy blind and base ! Next, snatching brands of fire, Sing round their house in choir : " Wear green for hope, grave hills and wistful plain ! Shine, morning without clouds, clear-shining after rain ! " VII. Morn flits to noon, and afternoon to night : Ah ! Faery hours have faery wings to fly ! The black pots simmer, and the flames leap high What dance and song, what tumult of delight Swell when the west is bright. The bell rings clear as one the clamours die : Watchword* of faith that Mary's favour told Booms from our ranks, as 'twere a battle cry. Yea, quake and shudder, ye enchantments cold, Decayed and waxen old 1 * The Angelas. PROTHALAMION. 19 Now is the Bridal Night in truth begun : Come, virgins wise, with ready torches run ! Gather your wisps of grass ye goatherds small ! Sky-stars, earth's candles, pierce the dark as one ! Angels and men, sing all In mock-morn festival " Wear green for hope, grave hills and wistful plain ! Shine, morning without clouds, clear-shining after rain ! " VIII. The night wears on, the teamster's star is low. Guests are gone home, a many fires are out. My fire is shrunk and dim, I gaze without Where fitful lightnings ashen rain-clouds show, How clear with glow-worm's glow (Heartening as faith that never heard of doubt), Yon blissful lamp in still Bride-chamber set 1 Ay, but the thunder raves, the wind-scourged rout Of clouds comes rolling near and nearer yet To roof our East with jet ! I have outstayed the solace of the day, Let me now sleep, ay, sleep foul skies away 1 Strange as I lay me down with heavy eyes Gay elvish flashes dance in glittering play, 20 HUTS WHERE POOR MEN LIE. And cloud to cloud replies In thund'rous euphonies " Wear green for hope, grave hills and wistful plain ! Shine, morning without clouds, clear-shining after rain ! " IX. Was it a cock crowed ? Was it I that heard ? Face to the lighted east, meseemed I stood, And saw against a rain-soft sky the Rood Rise stark above the house. Afresh the bird Spake, but no sleeper stirred. In that grey hour God gave me vision good, When shrouding mists from porch and eaves were swept I saw the piping fauns from out the wood Who all that marriage-night their watch had kept While we tired revellers slept. I heard them praise the Groom in sylvan glee For many a sheltering grove and shading tree. Huge lion-like spirits couched about their feet, Such as from out the hills come roaming free A new-hailed chief to greet. These roared, the reeds piped sweet PROTHALAMION. 21 " Wear green for hope, grave hills and wistful plain ! Shine, morning without clouds, clear-shining after rain ! " x. There (as she breathed "farewell I") I saw the face Of many a fostering friend of Groom or Bride Nymph cowslip-pranked from Teme's or Thames' side, Fay from the Essex forest, sea-maid's grace From some grey Celtic place. Saints, too, I saw, their robes in sunrise dyed, Faith * with her eyes of blue forget-me-not, Lukef whose wise hands taught theirs in wed- lock tied, And Francis whose face shone, his heart being hot With splendour of his lot. His were the last words ere the vision went. " First Sister Rain," he sighed. He smiled and bent Blind eyes to east. " Then Brother Sun again ! Be poor for pity's sake 1 To spend be spent ! * The patron saint of their mission home, t Both are healers as well as teachers. 22 HUTS WHERE POOR MEN LIE. So learn to shine ye twain I " Rose with the sun his strain " Wear green for hope, grave hills and wistful plain 1 Shine, morning without clouds, clear-shining after rain I " DAY'S END AND YEAR'S END. 23 DAY'S END AND YEAR'S END. HTHE millet-ears are red to harvest now : Lowly and shamed I look on poor men's fields. How many-fold the foison of their yields ! They willed and worked, but I have only willed : I dreamed of tilling, they have toiled and tilled. Aneath the low sun wend their cattle home ; No horn'd or hornless head but now is here. With all their tale (ah ! not as I) they come, Those happy herds, whose night as mine is near. 24 HUTS WHERE POOR MEN LIE. POTS AND POTTERS. "\17ITHIN my mother's house her black pots stood, By her hands moulded, her brown hands alone : Alack, to-day I broke the best afield 1 Bad beer it carried : once it carried good When she was here. But she is dead and gone. (O mother, mother, must you hunger thus While we grow fat there are so few of us To share the russet grain, your garden's yield ? ) Sorrow of hers 1 So well to mould the clay Her child would break to-day ! Sorrow of God's I Such hearts as hers to make For witches sly to break ! A DEAD MASHONA. 25 A DEAD MASHONA. Chifuzi : f~* ATTLE and sheep and goats to him were dear, Deep furrows drave he for the rains to bless. Stefano : Some tardy shambling steps he came last year From his rude world's vomit and filthiness, Fain to forsake them, fain as liege to pray Unto that Shepherd and that Husbandman, Who tills the sands, and seeks the goats astray. Chifuzi : Our rustic age hath lasted out his span. He is gone : he shall not see our land's distress. Shall he find friends ? Stefano : Doubt not he'll house with them Christ's rugged first-night friends of Bethlehem. 26 HUTS WHERE POOR MEN LIE. Chifuzi : But will they scent our traffick-snuffing band Gold in Christ's country, as in this poor land, And following vex him ? Stefano : Nay, I think not so. Christ, who with scourge of small cords long ago Swept dreadfully those sires of theirs away, Hath the same Arm to-day. PAN'S COUNTRY. 27 PAN'S COUNTRY. (From Mashonaland) . T~MD Athens Queen, the violet-crown'd, Athene's lore to aliens preach ? Did a dark galley southward-bound Ship Sophists for some Dorian beach ? Did one the springs of Ladon reach, And one Cyllene's rock-shale spurn ? Be sure, Pan said his say to each They came to teach, they stayed to learn ! We that have fled green English ground For sun-tann'd hills and moors that bleach More than red rubies' worth have found In these thatch'd porches where we teach. The stoic herdmen we beseech From food's and raiment's lust to turn Doth not their faith our faith impeach ? We came to teach, we stay to learn. We teach of Arms that wrap us round Safe from wolf's howl and night-bird's screech, 28 HUTS WHERE POOR MEN LIE. Of Blood, whose balm from Fivefold Wound Outvies all salves of earthly leech For dying hearts' despair and breach. How bright our faith's dull embers burn In plowman's psalm and goatherd's speech ! We came to teach, we stay to learn. Oxford, thy deep-voic'd chimes renowned, For which our ears hark back and yearn, As sheep-bells here to shepherds sound Where shepherds teach, where shepherds learn! PHILiSTIA. "... They turned an easy wheel, That set sharp racks at work, to pinch and peel." Keats. BALAAM. 31 BALAAM. Y"OU bid me bless Yon graceless pomp of roofs of guttered steel, Yon Dives lounging at his listless meal Killing long ease at Lazarus' expense, Yon temple of our tribal Deity Where faith is of such moving potency Christ's Mount and Sermon are cast headlong thence ? But I have blessed, as He hath bid me bless, And not as you. You bid me curse Yon thatch'd huts set on everlasting hills, Yon slow, sure husbandman his tilth that tills, Yon worn wife reaping with her dwarfish blade, Yon foison of dwarf cattle black and red, Yon Nazareth school-room, yon low Bethlehem shed Where poor folk praise the Lord Who all folk made? But I have blessed, as He hath bid me bless, And not as you. D 2 32 PHILISTIA. A HOUSE DIVIDED. (On Colonial Home-Rule). T DREAM of England is it but a dream ? One whose obedience binds her children all, Brooking no tyrannies of great o'er small. But children yet to her old eyes we seem, Not only those their callow elders deem Of tainted blood, and sallow bastards call. Nay, none, however brazenly he bawl, Is other than a child in her esteem. 'Twas but a dream. To-day it is not so : Children rule children now, their mother gone : They play mock-justice in the house alone, With childish petulance of word and blow. Blame not a child for that he cannot know, Blame her that leaves her mother's task undone ! A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 33 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. (From South Africa). /^ OME, browse, my goats, Christ's Manger Hay, Come, browse, in Christmas peace and love Ye that on Summer's green hills stray, Or by her rain-flush'd rivers rove ! " We fear to browse," my brown goats say, " A white dog snarls Christ's Bed above, White dog with four flesh-meals a day He likes it not that goats he drove Should munch God's meal. He will not move." 34 PHILISTIA. THE BLACK CHRIST. (At Easter in South Africa). "DILATE and Cai'aphas They have brought this thing to pass- That a Christ the Father gave, Should be guest within a grave. Church and State have willed to last This tyranny not over-past ; His dark southern Brows around They a wreath of briars have bound, In His dark despised Hands Writ in sores their writing stands. By strait starlit ways I creep, Caring while the careless sleep, Bearing balms, and flow'rs to crown That poor Head the stone holds down, Through some crack or crevice dim I would reach my sweets to Him. Easter suns they rise and set, But that stone is stedfast yet : Past my lifting 'tis but I When 'tis lifted would be nigh. THE BLACK CHRIST. 35 I believe, whate'er they say, The sun shall dance an Easter Day, And I that through thick twilight grope With balms of faith, and flow'rs of hope, Shall lift mine eyes and see that stone Stir and shake, if not be gone. 36 PHILISTIA. SAINT PAUL. (From South Africa. Col. iii. n^. T17ITH joyful eyes he hailed each moat and wall That ringed his race, as ramparts of their Lord ; In joyful ears he caught the curses poured On Egypt, Edom, Hellas, out-cast all. God willing so to raise us, wrought his fall ; Full in those eyes was flash'd the Two-Edg'd Sword, Full in those ears the Many Waters roared, Blind, deaf, he saw the sight, he heard the call. Blind, deaf to Israel's wrath, his way he went, Not blind nor deaf to Christ, he made men free, Race after race, of Israel's liberty. To us rebuilding barriers that he rent O Christ, his Christ, why is no prophet sent Stone-blind stone-deaf to pride of race, as he ? TO THEIR RULERS. 37 TO THEIR RULERS. [It was remarked in one District of Mashonaland that a slaughter of dogs was followed by sorrowful dearth some nine years ago. Late in last year (1911) rain was ominously scanty after another slaughter (following another rabies outbreak).] XT INE years agone by will of yours Our land with blood was dyed Blood of the friends that hark and heed And sleep the hearth beside So God for those red deeds of yours Our latter rains denied. Nine years agone in panic fear Lest you be bit to die You left the harmless blood you shed For sun and wind to dry, Therefore a mad sun bit the fields, A mad wind swept the sky. Once more to us the heav'ns are brass Because the earth is red, By law of yours, or stealth of yours, The friends of men are dead ; Therefore the Pale Hound holds his watch Lest mouths of men be fed. 38 PHILISTIA. Pale Hunger heads the fleeces south, Few drops they lag to spill, Us would he bite with belly-pinch, Us would he gnaw at will : But you, that live not from the land, Have leave to gorge your fill. Have leave to swill your joyous swill, And play your gamester's play. Eight years agone we bought from you, What prices did we pay ? Now Hunger brings the birds to hand, Will you not pluck your prey ? STARS AND MEN. 39 STARS AND MEN. T AST night I watched the multitudes on high Revel above our dreams, and slumb'rings all, I saw the populous nations of the sky Keep, far above our gloom, glad festival. This morn the stars are hid, and we arise To run our courses in less lucent skies. Lo, how we constellate in dusky blains Of sorry drones that shine with drudges' gains : Dark anti-stars, day's blue and gold we blight, Then sleep, soon weary of the true stars' light ! 40 PHILISTIA. STARS OVER VELD. HPHIS is the land where might is right So many whiles a day, Where at a sultry southern shrine, We northern pilgrims pray, Where truth and honour homesick grow And glide as dreams away. What land is there like this our land So stript and spread that lies So many nights of every year Aneath insistent eyes Of stars, that ask, and ask, and ask Our wherefores and our whys ? Night by night the stars come out In skies without a stain, Why do we shudder in our sleep, Why is our stealth so vain ? Why are the hidden things of day At dead of night so plain ? Camped on the wild we exiles sleep, An ample cell we share : STARS OVER VELD. 41 All night a-roof upon our sleep A million warders stare. What do the stars of England know, Or us the sons she bare That all a million scornful eyes For England's honour care ? 42 PHILISTIA. THE PEACE-OFFERING. [Lines on the union of South Africa achieved at the cost of a colour-bar.] "DROPHESY, prophets, in your new accord, " Go up and prosper and possess the land! " Are ye not named the prophets of the Lord ? ii. " What of the Night ? " She cedes us to the Day. And with that Day, what august rites begin ! With calm resplendent sweep the tide comes in A laver of ablution laughs our Bay, An altar looms our Mountain, slabb'd and spread With folds of white ; A flush of amber-red About her morning face, Our City kneels aneath her holy place, Confident, glad, a postulant for pow'r, New-issued from her veil'd and ashen hour ! in. See how the moon's dim curving blade is nigh In yon blue eastern sky THE PEACE-OFFERING. 43 Be sure of old a land's libation due By Fate apart was set, Set to appease for all our affluence new, Be sure this arid Earth's Atoning Tide Asks from our south some torrent Tyrian-dyed ! But what the assuaging source, our blind eyes see not yet. IV. Now when all omens doom a sacrifice, Ere yet the awaited sun of doom arise Tell whence the Lamb shall come Or from the strong man's flocks, or from the weak man's home ? O man of flocks God's Will to thee is told, But He not overwills that will of thine. Power shall be thine to grudge, as ne'er of old, Power too to give thy will in Christ's to fold To grant Diviner measure than of old, Granting and grudging not cost of a gift Divine. v. Hark ! At Barabbas' shrine is Christ denied ? Robbers ! The weak man's right must bleed on high. He that hath vision, let his eyes descry 44 PHILISTIA. Huge mystic forms to that same altar tied. There England's honour bleeds, how proudly slow ! There from Five Wounds in Feet and Hands and Side, Five dusky Wounds, how fast the runnels flow ! VI. Hearken the prophets in their chorus bland, " Arise and shine, for now thy light is come ! " " Go up and prosper and possess thy home ! " " Eat of the fruits of this, thy pleasant land ! " No patriot I, if these true patriots be, I loved my land, her freedom's fixity, Too well to love her change. Her praise they speak From Holy Writ. From Holy Writ I seek Fierce mournful words to fit her fame's decay : Till she undo that wrong she does to-day, " Give her dry breasts and a miscarrying womb 1 " I pray. BLACK PERIL. 45 BLACK PERIL. T OSEPH to Egypt's bondage went J I know not whether bought and sold, Or by Egyptian's tongue cajoled, Or by his witless fancy sent. He found a master just and stern Marcus Aurelius call his name Inured the pride of life to tame, The subterfuge of joy to spurn. But his his namesake's fate to share, A Faustine for his bride to wed Not over-faithful to his bed, As southern sunshine hot and fair. Them Joseph served in bloom of youth, Dusker than Israelite of old, Shapely of face, with strength untold, With modest eyes and lips of truth. His mistress eyed him Faustine-wise, And called him near her day by day Where in her loveliness she lay, Serpentine with those starry eyes. E 46 PHILISTIA. " How do the thing my mistress bids, God being God ? " he said to her, One hush-lipp'd morn with none astir Ere Day had raised his drowsy lids. Her fever cooled to ague cold. Trembling with bitter mirth she tore The coloured folds that Joseph wore, And to his lord a tale she told. Of light esteem is Joseph's race In Egypt where they multiply, And Egypt counts with jealous eye, And mulcts for spite each swarthy face. So Egypt with a wink believed Not fumbling Truth, but Frailty's myth, Hanged him by Egypt's law forthwith, And yelped for purity aggrieved. TO A CERTAIN COLONY. 47 TO A CERTAIN COLONY REPUTED ENGLISH. "'["It is gratifying to note that the efforts of the Government to meet the needs of the farming com- munity are proving very successful and are being highly appreciated by farmers generally . . . On Tuesday a further batch of 300 Mashonas was dis- tributed among the farmers in the Mazoe district, making a total distribution of about 700 natives since the recent demonstration. It is anticipated that in the course of another few days another batch of labourers will arrive for distribution." The Rhodesia Herald, Oct. i3th, 1911.] "V7"OU gave the word, or rather winked the eye And human cattle came, a docile band, Many and cheap, to till your aliens' land : You winked at mortals* set as gods on high, Liege-lords empowered a supple trade to ply ; " Wish " with a wink what was it but " com- mand " ? What lowly village would your wish withstand ? What vassal commune would its sons deny ? You boast your English birth. By fruits I know * Native Commissioners. E 2 48 PHILISTIA. England's true breed Dominion, State, and Shire Freedom begat them stedfast, frank, and slow. But you, that in such hasty stealth conspire To sell your children, other lineage show, Bastard you are, and Commerce was your sire ! LAZARUS. 49 LAZARUS. T WATCHED him at the banquet wait The drunken banquet grossly plann'd The serf who held his master's fate In hollow of his swarthy hand. Dim purple hangings he had draped, Had blanched fine linen smooth and fair, The meats had dressed, the bake-meats shaped, - A cuff, a curse he took for share. O dark meek Mephistopheles, Safe in your hands a soul you hold : Th' inevitable end he sees No more than Dives saw of old. 50 PHILISTIA. TOLSTOI. [(From a South African Churchman) . r* HILD-LIKE he loitered on his Pilgrim's Way, Child-like he crawled from out a Slough's Despond, Caged by Despair with feint of bolt and bond, Child -like he conned at night the Book of Day. Alack ! His pettish fingers tore away Leaf after leaf. He said " A fable fond Is winged Faith, that soars the skies beyond ; Love walking earth I utterly obey." Love walking earth he utterly obeyed, Renounced and laboured, turned the unsmitten cheek. Our Sion's peace, O oblate outlaw, seek ! Pray as for Borgian Rome pure Mary prayed 1 To our unchildlike Church, O prophet, speak Lest we, Faith's wardens, wink at Love betrayed I ON A LADY-CHAPEL. 51 ON A LADY-CHAPEL. (Proposed as a Rhodes Memorial) . TJT UGE, helpless, dead why would ye snatch from him The sounding brass of his rebellious name ? Dark grows our counsel and our vision dim, Did this man bear our cross, endure our shame ? Tho' he be dead, he being dead will speak. What poverty of spirit preacheth he ? What proven truths hath he to tell the meek ? Was he so sure that they earth's heirs would be ? Above us broods our cloud of witnesses Francis and Paul and John and Mary white Thro' all our desert days a shade of ease, A kindling pillar all our lonely night. Hence, go in peace, nor brood above our Fold, Huge glooming cloud with flash of vision clear! Go, crash thy knell o'er temple-cones of old, " How like a vapour doth our life appear ! " PHILISTIA. V1CTRIX CAUSA DEIS PLACUIT. (In South Rhodesia.) T SHARE that older faith my fathers knew, I, as my brothers, milk the breasts of earth. The reaper's aches I know, the thresher's mirth ; I watch aghast aneath the tearless blue Till the big drops be granted lest we die. Fate loves the conqu'ring cause, the conquered I. O mirthless liars of the market-place, Your sullen stamps thud dully night and day, Blood after blood, you spill your bloodless way, Pow'r-dazed, doom-blind, you win your panting race ! You win, we lose, losing I yet defy. Fate loves the conqu'ring cause, the conquered I. SHE THAT SENT US FORTH. She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair." Keats. APOLOGIA. 55 APOLOGIA. (To Her that sent me forth. St. Luke ix. 62). A N I should turn from plow, Nor drive straight furrows now, Art thou to bear my blame ? Thou that hast sent me forth A plowman from the north, To plow in thy great name. Nay, an I dreaming stay Any cool hour of day Comes thy voice chiding me, 11 Sun's low and flies are kind : Plow on, nor look behind, What have I done to thee ? " But noons when oxen rest, Nights too in jewels drest, To thee and thine I turn Look from the sun-brown'd wold Far down a lime-walk old, Watch from some hill-camp cold Hearths where the red coals burn. 56 SHE THAT SENT US FORTH. OXFORD SUB CRUCE. \X7ITHIN a lap of our brown hills Four pilgrims made their bed, Grave Shem the wandering Jew was there, To share my camp-fire red, Great Ham was there my team that drove, And little Ham that led. Our fading fire but faintly showed The colour line so grim ; Ham shared the herb of peace with me That Shem had shared with him ; To God the Colour- Blind there rose Three colours' incense dim. Each told a tale his forebears told In some forgotten year ; We bowed us to the Sire of Men, We lay the bright fire near ; I read in bed the broad blue page, That banished men read clear. I know not what my comrades read, Or if they read at all ; OXFORD SUB CRUCE. 57 Stars did ye count as herds of kine, Great Ham, and Ham the small ? Did pensive Shem assess the same By silver's rise and fall ? Clear, clear I read in prints of fire The chart of Oxford Town ; Her streets and walks and lawns and streams In starry spoor were shown, Not as she is, but as she was The year that I went down. She knew, she cared, she wrought for me Those blue and silver hours, Binding on eyes that filled and failed Bond-spell of trees and tow'rs, Eking the starry patterns out With flash of garden-flow'rs. I spoored in joy her jewelled streets, Her gemmy rivers twain, I sought two doors upon a stair, Nor did I seek in vain, As pointers of the Southern Cross His rooms and mine were plain. A dim fourth star it was the pyre Of half-lost friends of mine, 58 SHE THAT SENT US FORTH. The Cross was lit with lustres three, With Hall and Grove and Shrine, The starless void aneath them veiled The lost that left no sign. Now, night by night, I con my page, Prick'd with a fiery pen, I read not of her golden Now, But of her silver Then, The time she cherished us as boys, Who now are banish'd men. THE WAY OF ENGLAND. 59 THE WAY OF ENGLAND. T THAT have set so high this house of mine, Choose but to have four windows. I would see Southward of nights the way the Cross will shine, Eastward of morns the way of days to be, But to the north-west set me windows twain And wide ones, not alone that I may skill To count the feeding flocks on yonder plain, Or count the colours on the hither hill (My hill so iron-blue all a brooding noon), Nor yet that I may watch, in mind to sing, My woods that flash with rose-red silks in Spring. Nay rather that, all day and every day, My eyes may go at will their pilgrims' way The way from this new home, an old home's way. 6o SHE THAT SENT US FORTH. TO AND FRO. f~\ THE brown fog and the weather foul, The wind so rough and cold, Them I would greet as kind and sweet With joyful heart and bold, If but my ship were heading home, The way we went of old ! O there's no purple evening dim, No dawn of wild-rose glow, No Summer balm of stars and calm May ease my out-cast woe, Now I wend my way in a weary ship, The way that exiles go 1 THE TERM OF EXILE. 61 THE TERM OF EXILE. (From a ship bound for Africa). T S it meet to wish them dead Thrushes their short April sped Bells a-blossom overblown Fronds unfolding brown and gone Children (all of April-time) Past May's flow'r, or past her prime ? Nay, it is not meet, I know, This desire that tempts me so. Yet, I pray you, judge not me From your green home bitterly If I would your months were gone, March or July, every one, Every season that content Leaves me to my banishment ! Yet, I pray you, judge not me If one month perpetually Mine enamoured eyes foresee In a season yet to be, That, when those are dead, shall come, Care for me, and call me home. F 62 SHE THAT SENT US FORTH. SPRING IN THE SOUTH. (South African Spring is English Autumn). /^ FOR the failing suns and the mists of an Autumn day, Sherds of a golden bowl, cords of silver that loosen and fray I Some give their hearts to the blue, but my heart it is true to the gray. Spring's blue is here and her green, but mine eyes glance aside and astray, Dazzled and troubled and dim from the unveil'd gaze of her day, Loyal to Autumn and England, three weary weeks' travel away Under the mirth of the blue, desiring the tears of the gray. SUPER FLUMINA. 63 SUPER FLUMINA. "T'HE Spring to England goes. Down the blue passage of the sky This morn I saw her car of swallows fly Here where our hills in pillared glory rise. Would she not tarry ? Nay, she with disdain Pass'd my new country by, (That not content in Winter's white to lie, And spoil'd with too much Summer, little knows Of that dim tenderness of Summer's close, Or those pinch'd months of loss and leafless pain, Till the green grow again). Up the sun's westering track at dawn she went : All a long hour mine ears kept ward intent. Hearken ! A door flew open far away, Then closed. Here, in this waste of outer darkness pent, I guessed how, in that bare room's narrow space, Her warm lips wakened England's sleeping face. I heard 'twixt laughs and tears the sweet birds call, F a 64 SHE THAT SENT US FORTH. I saw those brown bulbs, in the earth deep planted, Raise glimmering heads from out their sleep enchanted About Spring's feet, that never come to stay, Here never come at all. Ah ! But I do asperse her. She was kind. September saw her here : I was but blind. Her royal draperies of Autumn dyes Did her disguise. Parch'd were her lips. Small songs her birds would sing ; Yet lacking many a norland flute-note sweet, She set our drums to beat, Beat, beat, beat, Till our south shook, and leaped for love of Spring. PRIMAVERA. 65 PRIMAVERA. ' ""PIS Spring ! O love you not sweet Spring ? What if she washes not so clean, Nor wears such innocence of white and green, Of daisy-blushes and of gold, Here in our South as in our North of old ? What if no bird that's here can sing In this athirst awakening As well as robin sang one Christmas cold ? Yet O for old sakes' sake Regard the mirth she means, but may not make. Love her, and string her petal-chains of rhyme Her that wants much, but wants not wistfulness. Sweet Spring, her poverty is not her crime ; Her heart is young aneath the dusty dress And fiery flushes of a hectic clime. 'Tis Spring. O love you not sweet Spring ? 66 SHE THAT SENT US FORTH. KENT. T17HEN our wild boughs wore white blossom Under last Spring's sky So like Kentish cherry-blossom I would stare and sigh. Christ that likened them so, lead me ! Home to Kent will I ! From our cliff I see the dark weald Yon spread valley dress So from Bidboro' I saw once Kent's wide loveliness Christ, that limnest me her picture, My lost county bless I Quaffing here upon the iron shale At a cold spring's brink Rusty-rilled like Pantiles' water, I'll not flinch nor shrink To Kent, whose like is not in England, Full of heart, I'll drink. ESSEX. ESSEX. her rich-sucking lips of deep-stain'd clay Red bubbles blows she on a Summer's day Roses how light and sweet I From out her heavy head of dense brown mould Shoot Samson-locks of airy fiery gold Was ever grown such wheat ? O Rose of Sharon, Corn of Wheat that fell In fruitful Grave, for Thee I now forgo Those tilths and garths of hers ! Not here so well Aneath my deep-thatch'd roofs, red roses blow, Not here so tall the yellow ears upstand From my dark furrow'd land. Yet are they wheat and roses, and I make Their sunset colours welcome for her sake. 68 SHE THAT SENT US FORTH. CHANGELING LANDS. (^)N the seas I sailed to south of old All a blue way freak'd with faery fire ; Faeryland I found of fond desire, Brown and green beneath a heaven of gold. Ah ! In tales of youth and yore they came Peace-allured ensuers long ago, Torch-lit by some faery taper's flame, Thro' the ford and past the ferny knowe. Having come, those hearts of theirs would turn, Missing now another Faeryland Home, with hearth so bright if sky so stern. Errant hearts, how well I understand ! AUTUMN NOCTURNES. 69 AUTUMN NOCTURNES. T OW o'er the moor nods yonder star When it shall set, unyoke the team 1 Nearer our northern home may seem Here, where all southern homes are far. This month of all, we would be free, The month the swallows northward go : Blue spangled walls about us glow Wide is our jail, but jailed are we. n. To-night in April yet we sleep, But trust with morn to wake in May : A sting is in those names you keep, O dew-cold night, O daybreak gray ! Bethink we how, in walls of glass, For us Spring's southern flowers would flame, And coax our winter days to pass, Or ever to the South we came ! 70 SHE THAT SENT US FORTH. Now, turn for turn, the South requite Heap high our fires for festival Bid many dance for May to-night That never heard a cuckoo's call I MAY-DAY. 71 MAY-DAY. CHEERILY flap and crow, Cocks in the thatch'd huts homing I " April and rains must go ! May and her frosts be coming ! " Crow o'er the wintry moors forlorn 41 Four o'clock and a May-Day morn ! " Wearily, feet to fire, Wait I the second crowing, Then by the wind-swept byre The way the wind is going, Go I striding so grimly gay, Trolling my Lauds of an Essex May. " Faerily trip to-day Over the buttercup meadow, Crown your queen of the May, Flow'rs at her feet soft shred O I Petals rose-white and gold and blue, The best that came the brown earth through I 72 SHE THAT SENT US FORTH. Eerily dream to-night In hail of the twilight thrush singing, Wake while the fields are bright With the drops in the daisies swinging Dewdrops crystal, and pearl, and gold, You shall remember when you grow old ! " WITH A GREAT SUM. 73 WITH A GREAT SUM OBTAINED I THIS FREEDOM. T S England's all to all so free ? Nay to her best of peace and glee Her most of ruth and mystery I find no way by land. Come, an thou wilt, and serve with me Year after year, and years to be, Travel the dull and heavy sea The light and alien sand ! When God time's fulness shall decree, Take up thy wage, thine outcast's fee ! Home ! Home 1 When wind and tide agree Who art thou to withstand ? Thou hast her larger liberty, Her maze's clue, her postern's key, Her unknown way is known to thee, Thou'rt free of English land I 74 SHE THAT SENT US FORTH. MIDWINTER SONG. (English Midsummer is our Midwinter). "\T7HEN northern roses blow with such delight Dreamers may snuff them half an earth away, When Home's long-dallying suns of summer smite An exile's winter sleep with heat and ray Thank God for our great night and little day 1 TO THE YEAR. 75 TO THE YEAR. (In time of veld-fires). "WEAR, in my north so fair, How little these folk know thee 1 So same their golden south, Whether in age or youth. Year, in black flame-dipt wear, How little these folk know thee ! Thy small fine green of grass, The flakes of flowers that strow thee, Thy winter's eld of leafless grace austere, And all thy leaf-light moods in England there, That ere they weary, pass. 76 SHE THAT SENT US FORTH. ONE YEAR AGO. (July 28th, 7909). nPHAT yew-set Way I followed bade me pass O'er Ranmore Common. How the sheep- trimm'd grass Glowed ! With what colours was the churchyard spread Whither slant sunbeams went to bless the dead ! Sundown drew on. The tower meseemed to rise A ship-mast from a hull of heavenly dyes, Moored safely in a wide sea-coloured sward, With all a many balms so safe aboard. By that yew-set Pilgrims' track As night fell, I travelled back, Back a-dream to Kentish times When I lilted laughing rhymes, Ere I saw with mine own eyes These dread pomps of southern skies, Past whose starry levels mount Many sobs of much account. ONE YEAR AGO. 77 But I dreamed. Content I came To a Surrey camp-fire's flame With a friend encamped to be That tented night of ecstasy. Joy was ours. What heart's content Rayed from those stars reticent In a sky of modest girth ! Glad I was that half an earth Lay between us and the skies Of too fiercely passioned eyes, Lay between us and the plain (This my sere and songless plain), I so soon must seek again. 78 SHE THAT SENT US FORTH. THE PILGRIMS' WAY. "V7"ON white-horse cloud for Kent, he speeds I (The light breeze blows along the Way 1) Then up and go by Itchen meads That are so sweet this time of hay ; And never pass a church, but in to pray Grudge not her toll, our long-impoverished Way ! Tarry not long in Guildford Town (Pass with the west wind up the Way !) Lift up your heart on Merrow Down, And ev'ry gold gorse-common gay ! Lock they the church-doors ? Then twice over pray I Rally all succours to reclaim the Way ! Aneath the chalk-ridge see her run (Set with black yews our silver Way 1) On her close turf what glow of sun, How cool her beechen cloisters grey ! In Boxley Church go stretch your hands and pray ; Since there's no Rood, make one to bless the Way. THE PILGRIMS' WAY, 79 Far-seen the Martyr's towers appear (Our blood-hound wind leads all the Way 1) Kneel where the blood glow'd hot and clear In icy gloom of winter's day ! Is the Shrine stript ? With rich-gemm'd reverence pray To Him Who suffers our forsaken Way 1 Ah ! When o'er southland moors shall we Tread to a southland Shrine our Way Where red rains rained for liberty As healing springs perennial stay ? Christ! With what Pentecost of tongues we'll pray! How plain our bare brown feet shall print that Way! G 2 ROAD OF GRACE. " Nursing thy project in unclouded joy, And every doubt long blown by time away." M. Arnold. HOME WITH DAWN. 83 HOME WITH DAWN. A/T ILE after mile, so many a mile, The last mile left, I stride for home. Cock in yon thatch'd hut do you hear My joyful tidings as I come That " Hail ! Hail 1 Hail ! " you cry so clear ? Why wraps that golden tender smile The tired moon's face as down she goes ? She was so proud and stern and white When I was far, and high she rose, Knows she my journey's end in sight ? Ah ! While I come, the self-same while, Even as I the door unlatch, He comes for whom the dead moon smiled, Whom the cock cried for through the thatch- Dawn, treading quiet as tip-toe child, Deigning each dusty window through A dewy glimpse of gold and blue. ROAD OF GRACE. BY A SUMMER CAMP-FIRE. A RUDDY star is mine My camp-fire's eager blaze With withered branches fed Once green in summer days, Fire, burn not now so fast The coldest watch comes last ! Would yonder planets' eyes Mark if my fire were dead ? Earth for its lustre lacks No petty camp-fire's red 'Twould shine a planet yet Should I my fire forget. Brighter than star to me Each yellow glint or gleam Of yonder flies, that float Gold o'er a silver stream. Their near small fires outvie Great stars in yon far sky. Small fires may please our eyes More than great fires afar. BY A SUMMER CAMP-FIRE. 85 Be glad, O barren night, Of fire and fly and star ! Rise, shine, my fire-fly dreams, With void and dark at war 1 Small fires, with great fires vie Till the cock's curfew cry ! 86 ROAD OF GRACE. PALACE WINDOWS. (Home-coming before sunset). "DENEATH, a green moor spreads its weary miles, Above, are airy colours, dewy smiles : Above, wide wings of sunset lightly span The lumbering ways of man, Beneath, how slowly wend my plodding feet ! Me, as a king returning from my war, Me, as a reaper should'ring sheaves, they greet Those dusty panes in yon poor house of mine, Strangers to glint of gems or gleam of wine. Their frugal ministerings of light put by, They flash the royal fervours of the sky Over the hillside, down the dale afar To me that travel-stained and foot-sore come, With yet so many steps to be at home, Too many to o'ertake their Tyrian dye. THE COMET. 87 THE COMET. (June, 1910.) "p\ARKLING I went the oxen's trodden way, Doubt-vext and fearful where" it showed "so dim, But Heaven held for me her lantern grim The star that last month lit a king to death, The star of pests and wars and-lands^decay, The dragon-star with jet of fiery breath. Herald of cycles of calamity A torch of aid and grace it was toTme ; By it I steered far to the black north-west, And came, so steering, safe to light and^rest. 88 ROAD OF GRACE. THE WILDERNESS. HPHE Spirit drave him to the wilderness. Hungry he grew for friends and books and bread, The Tempter came with quartzes veined and red, He cried "Stones! Stones! Seek stones with wombs of ore And turn them into bread and somewhat more ! " In sight of freedom of the wilderness Perch'd on his steep church roof how cramp'd he was. " What narrow poverty of mould'ring grass And walls of dirt ! " He heard the Tempter say " Cast thyself down, trust God, and go thy way!" Brooding, he yearned above that wilderness Scanning its World's View from a harrowed hill : How small his power to save, how great his will ! The Tempter spake " Pay but the quit-rent mine Acres, and men, and souls of men are thine ! " THE WILDERNESS. 89 He did not triumph in that wilderness. Time after time he lingered ere he turned : Time after time he sighed for that he spurned. Yet he abides, in rugged patience grim, With many an Angel left to care for him. go ROAD OF GRACE. NEW HEART, NEW HOPE. (After feverjt A I 7 HEN the tanned grass wore deep and deeper brown, And sun and stars were clear, and fresh the wind, To my dull eyes no vision's bliss was shown, The darkness seemed before, the dreams behind. Then in the mercy of my God there came Doom from that sacred Earth I dared to slight, And smote the honest air to ice and flame, And darkened eyes that had misused their light. Once more the vista grows ; the veils draw back Time after time, what time I tread again My brown plains travelled by my lonely track, Set underneath my blue sun-travelled plain. VIATICUM. 91 VIATICUM. T PARCHED and thirsted as encamped I lay Dreaming with open eyes ere break of Day, It seemed my lips in vain I lifted up To starry drops within the sky's blue cup. Then, while I watched, in branches by my bed (As 'twere a broken cake of golden bread) The horned moon hung from that blue roof on high, I knew such pangs of dearth as sleep deny. Soon on my starved man's vigil shone the east, Far off the cocks were calling to the Feast, So to my grey rock's Banquet-board I went, And ate and drank wherefrom my dreams were sent. 92 ROAD OF GRACE. PERVIGILIUM CHRISTI. (For th$ night before Good Friday in a South African Autumn.) '"PHIS night of falling stars, it doomed our Morning- Star to fall : This night of heavy autumn dews, His red Dews dripped for all. Will of mine own I doom to-night, and would at daybreak slay : Love vigilant, love immolant, O rouse me with the Day ! We are but sheep or lambs of Thine, meet for Thine altar's horns Where wait the sacrificial nails, the votive wreaths of thorns : To-morrow, hands dyed red of old, bind self to bleed again ! To-morrow, white hands loth of old, horns of the altar stain ! PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 93 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. (For Easter Even before sunset) . /"\ TO go Christian's way of wonderment, Fated and sealed to quell those darts of fire, O'erruled on Zion's pathway to aspire From Beulah's river-meads of rich content! But once was he in Doubting Castle pent, But once he thridded that abhorred mire, His feet recrossed it not, nor his desire, He with the Wind toward the Daybreak went. Like thine, O sun, not his, this way of mine West, east, east, west. As thou, night's way I burn Down western slopes ; as thou to eastward shine- O Daybreak Christ, set to that seal of Thine Make Thy way plain, seal fast my way's return ! O Wind with Daybreak blow the way I yearn ! 94 ROAD OF GRACE. PILGRIM'S REST. (On a friend's retirement). "WEARS ere we came, he faced our south-east wind, Gainsaying wind that bids us exiles " home ! " Home-going wind that leaves an ache behind ! But when the hour of calm he earned was come, He went not with that wind as others went. He on our sheep-wolds with his sheep would stay, Would rest in some wind-shelter, well-content To find such food and fire as shepherds may, And in the wind's teeth go His Master's way. REST AND LIGHT. 95 REST AND LIGHT. HTHIS night the bitter wind I face, The broken path I tread, And faring so, I pray for you, True friends among the dead. Small mercy shows the smotheiing dark To pride of life in me, My lust of flesh, and lust of sight Partake one purgat'ry. Mile after languid mile I yearn To my hard bed to come, Hour after dull hour, I desire The candle-light of home. True friends, this night I image forth Your wider wants from mine. O frail and fond, I crave for you Rest and the Light Divine. H 2 96 ROAD OF GRACE. WINTRY DAWN. 'T N HE sky was shielded dark, The wild blast lanced me through, I trod the grass ranks down Deep in the raw mist's dew ; Flame-capt the ridge I climbed From that bleak battle-field, Its golden serpent-tongues Hissed to me " Swerve or yield I " Ah ! But ye would not yield, My fiercely trampling feet, Till in its season came Forth from the strong the sweet ! That hill a mile from home Scaled, in what peace I lay Beneath the green of Spring, Above the blue of Day I WAGGON SONG. 97 WAGGON SONG. "\X7HITE sails upon a dark mere's breast The night's unnumbered stars beneath- Our waggons wind athwart the heath Soon with yon sinking star to rest. All day in leaguer, left and right, The moors beset us, brow o'er brow : A crimson ring of camp-fires' glow, How narrowly it bounds our night ! Lumber our waggons, lag our teams : Yet nightly by our fires we lie While the stars flash, the night-birds cry Drunk with the wonder of our dreams ! 98 ROAD OF GRACE. FAITH SONG. "CpERN-TREES on my hill-top sway In the wind that wends for home, Blue the sky and Spring the day, High and free I rest or roam. Free ! Yet from my hill on high Strain mine eyes nor reach to home, Ah ! How faint of faith am I Else my hill might up and go That same way the wind may blow I LEV AVI OCULOS. 99 LEV AVI OCULOS. (For haze-timt after veld-fires} . HP HAT yellow fire Prometheus stole on high Hath breathed some holy secret, speeding by. Now our purged hills in sombre ashes lie, Having God's glory from the flames confest : With clouded heads of incense-grey they rest, And dumbly worship with no wind to sigh. To them so wrapt, in praise's garment drest, Doubt not All Hallows of the hills are nigh In fellowship of aspiration blest. Doubt not white Hermon's Dew may wend as guest Aspersing Wedza's gorges charred and dry, Doubt not huge echoes hurled from Sinai Scathed Zuro hears in yonder mantled sky, And these home hills * that bear a name so blest Doubt not they dream how Calvary's runnels dye In Five-fold Crimson yon Wound-coloured west. * Hills of the Mission of Maronda Mashanu (The Five Wounds). ROAD OF GRACE. THE HOME PATH. TXT'HITE way atween green garths, O way of mine, Unharvested these many seasons long, Home those black nights I won by aid of thine Threading thy fallow maze the tilths among I Rejoice, O barren, trampled and unsown, Rich yield of homing joys thou barest me. Feet to my hearth, I sing farewell to thee, In haven-cheer my pilot's praise I own. THE WAY OF THE WILDERNESS. 101 THE WAY OF THE WILDERNESS. (Numbers xxiv. i). the wilderness I set my face, Not seeking now those charms I sought of old (And sought in vain), To turn my battle from the gate again, Not seeking now enchantments manifold To save from fall my leaguer'd holy place. Towards the wilderness my face I set Where I and such as I usurp not yet, But God yet rules and grudges not as we That peace on earth should be. This of all hours for this my mood is best, My homeless mood. Under a damask west This hour, brown deserts blossom as the rose, Now I, camped lone with dull Defeat for guest, While yon wide hearth of sky and land is lit (A burning shining glow), May warm my heart at it And find my respite so. 102 ROAD OF GRACE. VELD GRASS UNFIRED. XT OW little corn have men to carry, But in God's tilths His harvests tarry Still shock and sheaf my road-sides crown, King's corn that wears the kingly dye Of yon clear weather's golden sky, Of purpling eves, and twilights brown. Since man nor beast for it hath care, With none my Lord its sheaves will share, Mowing with sweep of scythe most bright. Haply at eve His scythe shall mow, Haply as whole burnt-offerings glow My wayside sheaves this fall of night. JOY OF VENTURE. 103 JOY OF VENTURE. "\17ITH this grey night of sousing rain I wrestled on my way, For loud flank-menace of the storm I would not stop nor stay. " Abide till morn ! " the thunders boomed, The lightnings grinned awry, Under my cloak the rain smote cold, Yet here at home am I. Ye were so strong and I so weak, levies of the night ! 1 had not come the half my way Had ye but used your might. Haply next year on yonder hill I shall have made my home, And when the grim nights dare me forth, God will not let me come. Hearing a-bed the hiss of rain, LulPd by the cloud-bank's roar, Haply I shall remember then These turned me not of yore. 104 ROAD OF GRACE. And haply they that proved me hard, But let my weakness by, Shall no forgetful music make About my grave on high. SOUTHERN SILENCE. 105 SOUTHERN SILENCE. '"THE yellow grass waves not. Calm is the sky The winter sky warm as a summer's rose. Dark shapes of trees stand stirless. Blue hills lie In noiseless glory. Now I listen, close To the mute high-road on the woodland's rim, And hear but silence. Song upon song ye lack, scant songs have ye, Ye southern birds, for mating jollity. But this Awe musical, this Vigil due Watched out in hush-lipp'd charm of line and hue By a dumb world the Word is breathing through How doth this Song excel 1 io6 ROAD OF GRACE. ROAD-SIDE ALTARS. \7OU that shall come after me, See the Promised Land I see Of its honey sup your fill When I sleep upon my hill, O remember how I found Some grey rock or terraced mound Many a morn of wayfaring, And upon it crown'd my King. Up and down our land they lie Thrones aneath a lustral sky, Slab or bank, the least of them, Bethel was, and Bethlehem. Wash your hands in innocence When you go the east-way hence 1 With how many a voided Throne Yon blue hills to east are strown ! A FRANCISCAN THANKSGIVING. 107 A FRANCISCAN THANKSGIVING. XT OW give us joy because we passed not by The many broken men our footpaths nigh, See what a Spring, how rich with roadside glee ! This long month past, we slighted none in pride, Nor kin of ours for wearing black denied Now who in all the land like us is free Of cherry- white or crimson-blossomed tree, Free of this Spring, her heart of hearts to know, Her heart that beat first but a week ago ? As we have done, so is it done to us Did ever sun smile in men's faces thus ? What have we done ? We went no heedless way : Now, aiding poor men, what rich alms we gain ! For all Christ's Five Wounds fresh our wood- lands stain, And yonder moors with Eden-green are gay. Were ever waysides heaped so thick as ours With lack-love needs, and heart delighting flow'rs ? STIGMATA A MORIS. A70 W dust to dust ! No dust-cloud whirls about That white road over hills you went so far, Now all is grey, set is the last red star : Ashes to ashes ! Your last fire is out. Now go, a veld-sore in each lifted hand, Go with two blistered feet your altar's way, With pity's wound at heart, go, praise and pray ! Go, wounds to Wounds ! Why you are glad to-day He Whose Five Wounds you wear, will understand. There is always something new out of Africa' PLINY THE ELDER. OTHER BOOKS BY ARTHUR SHEARLY C1UPPS. LYRA EVANGELISTICA. MISSIONARY VERSES OF MASHONALAND. Third Edition, fcap. 8vo, pp. viii + 125, cloth, 2/6 net ; by post, 2/9. ' In Mr. Arthur Cripps we have a poet of a wild land who will not consent for one moment to forget the classic tradition. He has the keenest and freshest powers of observation, he can catch a strange atmosphere, and be sensitive to all the subtleties of virgin soil. But at heart he is a classic. . . . Mashonaland is to him authentic Arcady, and with a poet's eye he can read in its savagery the old songs of Hellas. . . . He is best, perhaps, in his short pieces, cut like a jewel, for which the true model is the epigrams of the Greek Anthology.' The Spectator. ' Mr. Cripps writes of a land and of a people whom he evidently knows and loves, and his view of South Africa is a useful contrast to that provided by the globe-trotter, the wandering statesman, or the speculative Jew.' Pall Mall Gazette. FAERYLANDS FORLORN. AFRICAN TALES. Fcap. 8vo, pp. viii + 233, cloth, 3/6 net ; by post, 3/9. ' Whatever the theme, Mr. Cripps contrives to illumine it with the glow of mysticism or romance. The squalid side of " expansion " its hardness and greed is neither overlooked nor extenuated, and we are never allowed to forget that our highest claim to sovereignty rests on a humane and disinterested inter- pretation of our responsibilities to our subject races.' The Spectator. ' The volume is one of singular charm, and contains much that is unobtru- sively illuminating upon the subject of Mashonaland, its scenery, conditions of life, and types both native and Colonial.' The A thenaeum. THE BROODING EARTH. A STORY OF MASHONALAND. Crown 8vo, pp. 94, sewed, with coloured picture wrapper, I/- net ; by post, 1/3. 'It is a story of land-hunger in Mashonaland. and places the relations of pioneers ;with the natives in anything but an enviable light.' The Scotsman. ' It is in Africa . . . that Mr. Cripps is most thoroughly at home, describing man and nature there with a sure touch that brings the distant and unfamiliar scenes vividly home to us.' Oxford Chronicle. ' A short but striking story of Mashonaland . . . well worth reading, not only as a story but as a first-hand description of life and character in that important outpost of an African Empire.' Bookseller. OXFORD: B. H. BLACKWELL, BROAD STREET. LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL & CO., LTD. UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FAC L TY A 001415279 7