From sh.o.r.es laid waste across an iron sea Where the waifs drift of hopes that were to be, Across the red rolled foam we look for thee, Across the fire we look up for the light.

From days laid waste across disastrous years, From hopes cut down across a world of fears, We gaze with eyes too pa.s.sionate for tears, Where faith abides though hope be put to flight.

Old hope is dead, the grey-haired hope grown blind That talked with us of old things out of mind, Dreams, deeds and men the world has left behind; Yet, though hope die, faith lives in hope's despite.

Ay, with hearts fixed on death and hopeless hands We stand about our banner while it stands Above but one field of the ruined lands; Cry wellaway, but well befall the right.

Though France were given for prey to bird and beast, Though Rome were rent in twain of king and priest, The soul of man, the soul is safe at least That gives death life and dead men hands to smite.

Are ye so strong, O kings, O strong men? Nay, Waste all ye will and gather all ye may, Yet one thing is there that ye shall not slay, Even thought, that fire nor iron can affright.

The woundless and invisible thought that goes Free throughout time as north or south wind blows, Far throughout s.p.a.ce as east or west sea flows, And all dark things before it are made bright.

Thy thought, thy word, O soul republican, O spirit of life, O G.o.d whose name is man: What sea of sorrows but thy sight shall span?

Cry wellaway, but well befall the right.

With all its coils crushed, all its rings uncurled, The one most poisonous worm that soiled the world Is wrenched from off the throat of man, and hurled Into deep h.e.l.l from empire's helpless height.

Time takes no more infection of it now; Like a dead snake divided of the plough, The rotten thing lies cut in twain; but thou, Thy fires shall heal us of the serpent's bite.

Ay, with red cautery and a burning brand Purge thou the leprous leaven of the land; Take to thee fire, and iron in thine hand, Till blood and tears have washed the soiled limbs white.

We have sinned against thee in dreams and wicked sleep; Smite, we will shrink not; strike, we will not weep; Let the heart feel thee; let thy wound go deep; Cry wellaway, but well befall the right.

Wound us with love, pierce us with longing, make Our souls thy sacrifices; turn and take Our hearts for our sin-offerings lest they break, And mould them with thine hands and give them might.

Then, when the cup of ills is drained indeed, Will we come to thee with our wounds that bleed, With famished mouths and hearts that thou shalt feed, And see thee worshipped as the world's delight.

There shall be no more wars nor kingdoms won, But in thy sight whose eyes are as the sun All names shall be one name, all nations one, All souls of men in man's one soul unite.

O sea whereon men labour, O great sea That heaven seems one with, shall these things not be?

O earth, our earth, shall time not make us free?

Cry wellaway, but well befall the right.

EPILOGUE

Between the wave-ridge and the strand I let you forth in sight of land, Songs that with storm-crossed wings and eyes Strain eastward till the darkness dies; Let signs and beacons fall or stand, And stars and balefires set and rise; Ye, till some lordlier lyric hand Weave the beloved brows their crown, At the beloved feet lie down.

O, whatsoever of life or light Love hath to give you, what of might Or heart or hope is yours to live, I charge you take in trust to give For very love's sake, in whose sight, Through poise of hours alternative And seasons plumed with light or night, Ye live and move and have your breath To sing with on the ridge of death.

I charge you faint not all night through For love's sake that was breathed on you To be to you as wings and feet For travel, and as blood to heat And sense of spirit to renew And bloom of fragrance to keep sweet And fire of purpose to keep true The life, if life in such things be, That I would give you forth of me.

Out where the breath of war may bear, Out in the rank moist reddened air That sounds and smells of death, and hath No light but death's upon its path Seen through the black wind's tangled hair, I send you past the wild time's wrath To find his face who bade you bear Fruit of his seed to faith and love, That he may take the heart thereof.

By day or night, by sea or street, Fly till ye find and clasp his feet And kiss as worshippers who bring Too much love on their lips to sing, But with hushed heads accept and greet The presence of some heavenlier thing In the near air; so may ye meet His eyes, and droop not utterly For shame's sake at the light you see.

Not utterly struck spiritless For shame's sake and unworthiness Of these poor forceless hands that come Empty, these lips that should be dumb, This love whose seal can but impress These weak word-offerings wearisome Whose blessings have not strength to bless Nor lightnings fire to burn up aught Nor smite with thunders of their thought.

One thought they have, even love; one light, Truth, that keeps clear the sun by night; One chord, of faith as of a lyre; One heat, of hope as of a fire; One heart, one music, and one might, One flame, one altar, and one choir; And one man's living head in sight Who said, when all time's sea was foam, "Let there be Rome"--and there was Rome.

As a star set in s.p.a.ce for token Like a live word of G.o.d's mouth spoken, Visible sound, light audible, In the great darkness thick as h.e.l.l A stanchless flame of love unsloken, A sign to conquer and compel, A law to stand in heaven unbroken Whereby the sun shines, and wherethrough Time's eldest empires are made new;

So rose up on our generations That light of the most ancient nations, Law, life, and light, on the world's way, The very G.o.d of very day, The sun-G.o.d; from their star-like stations Far down the night in disarray Fled, crowned with fires of tribulations, The suns of sunless years, whose light And life and law were of the night.

The naked kingdoms quenched and stark Drave with their dead things down the dark, Helmless; their whole world, throne by throne, Fell, and its whole heart turned to stone, Hopeless; their hands that touched our ark Withered; and lo, aloft, alone, On time's white waters man's one bark, Where the red sundawn's open eye Lit the soft gulf of low green sky.

So for a season piloted It sailed the sunlight, and struck red With fire of dawn reverberate The wan face of inc.u.mbent fate That paused half pitying overhead And almost had foregone the freight Of those dark hours the next day bred For shame, and almost had forsworn Service of night for love of morn.

Then broke the whole night in one blow, Thundering; then all h.e.l.l with one throe Heaved, and brought forth beneath the stroke Death; and all dead things moved and woke That the dawn's arrows had brought low, At the great sound of night that broke Thundering, and all the old world-wide woe; And under night's loud-sounding dome Men sought her, and she was not Rome.

Still with blind hands and robes blood-wet Night hangs on heaven, reluctant yet, With black blood dripping from her eyes On the soiled lintels of the skies, With brows and lips that thirst and threat, Heart-sick with fear lest the sun rise, And aching with her fires that set, And shuddering ere dawn bursts her bars, Burns out with all her beaten stars.

In this black wind of war they fly Now, ere that hour be in the sky That brings back hope, and memory back, And light and law to lands that lack; That spiritual sweet hour whereby The b.l.o.o.d.y-handed night and black Shall be cast out of heaven to die; Kingdom by kingdom, crown by crown, The fires of darkness are blown down.

Yet heavy, grievous yet the weight Sits on us of imperfect fate.

From wounds of other days and deeds Still this day's breathing body bleeds; Still kings for fear and slaves for hate Sow lives of men on earth like seeds In the red soil they saturate; And we, with faces eastward set, Stand sightless of the morning yet.

And many for pure sorrow's sake Look back and stretch back hands to take Gifts of night's giving, ease and sleep, Flowers of night's grafting, strong to steep The soul in dreams it will not break, Songs of soft hours that sigh and sweep Its lifted eyelids nigh to wake With subtle plumes and lulling breath That soothe its weariness to death.

And many, called of hope and pride, Fall ere the sunrise from our side.

Fresh lights and rumours of fresh fames That shift and veer by night like flames, Shouts and blown trumpets, ghosts that glide Calling, and hail them by dead names, Fears, angers, memories, dreams divide Spirit from spirit, and wear out Strong hearts of men with hope and doubt.

Till time beget and sorrow bear The soul-sick eyeless child despair, That comes among us, mad and blind, With counsels of a broken mind, Tales of times dead and woes that were, And, prophesying against mankind, Shakes out the horror of her hair To take the sunlight with its coils And hold the living soul in toils.

By many ways of death and moods Souls pa.s.s into their servitudes.

Their young wings weaken, plume by plume Drops, and their eyelids gather gloom And close against man's frauds and feuds, And their tongues call they know not whom To help in their vicissitudes; For many slaveries are, but one Liberty, single as the sun.

One light, one law, that burns up strife, And one sufficiency of life.

Self-stablished, the sufficing soul Hears the loud wheels of changes roll, Sees against man man bare the knife, Sees the world severed, and is whole; Sees force take dowerless fraud to wife, And fear from fraud's incestuous bed Crawl forth and smite his father dead:

Sees death made drunk with war, sees time Weave many-coloured crime with crime, State overthrown on ruining state, And dares not be disconsolate.

Only the soul hath feet to climb, Only the soul hath room to wait, Hath brows and eyes to hold sublime Above all evil and all good, All strength and all decrepitude.

She only, she since earth began, The many-minded soul of man, From one incognizable root That bears such divers-coloured fruit, Hath ruled for blessing or for ban The flight of seasons and pursuit; She regent, she republican, With wide and equal eyes and wings Broods on things born and dying things.

Even now for love or doubt of us The hour intense and hazardous Hangs high with pinions vibrating Whereto the light and darkness cling, Dividing the dim season thus, And shakes from one ambiguous wing Shadow, and one is luminous, And day falls from it; so the past Torments the future to the last.

And we that cannot hear or see The sounds and lights of liberty, The witness of the naked G.o.d That treads on burning hours unshod With instant feet unwounded; we That can trace only where he trod By fire in heaven or storm at sea, Not know the very present whole And naked nature of the soul;

We that see wars and woes and kings, And portents of enormous things, Empires, and agonies, and slaves, And whole flame of town-swallowing graves; That hear the harsh hours clap sharp wings Above the roar of ranks like waves, From wreck to wreck as the world swings; Know but that men there are who see And hear things other far than we.

By the light sitting on their brows, The fire wherewith their presence glows, The music falling with their feet, The sweet sense of a spirit sweet That with their speech or motion grows And breathes and burns men's hearts with heat; By these signs there is none but knows Men who have life and grace to give, Men who have seen the soul and live.

By the strength sleeping in their eyes, The lips whereon their sorrow lies Smiling, the lines of tears unshed, The large divine look of one dead That speaks out of the breathless skies In silence, when the light is shed Upon man's soul of memories; The supreme look that sets love free, The look of stars and of the sea;