THIS IS THE CREED THAT MEANS THE WORLD'S SALVATION; THE BIRTH OF CHRIST IN EVERY MORTAL MIND.

(G.o.d rules, G.o.d rules alway.)

THE CURE

You may talk of reformations, of the Economic Plan, That shall stem the Social Evil in its course; But the Ancient Sin of nations, must be got at in THE MAN.

If you want to cleanse a river, seek the source.

Ever since his first beginning, Man has had his way, in l.u.s.t.

He has never learned the law of Self-Control; And the World condones his sinning, and the Doctors say he must, And the Churches shut their eyes, and take his toll.

And the lauded 'Lovely Mothers' send the son out into life With no knowledge-welded armour for the fight; 'He will make his way like others, through the Oat field, to the Wife'; 'He will somehow be led onward, to the light.'

Yes, his leaders, they shall find him. On the highways at each turn, (Since you did not choose to counsel or to warn,) They shall tempt him, then shall bind him; they shall blight, and they shall burn, Down to offspring and descendants yet unborn.

It can never end through preaching; it can never end through laws; This social sore, no punishment can heal.

It must be the mother's teaching of the purpose, and the cause, And G.o.d's glory, lying under s.e.x appeal.

She must feel no fear to name it to the children it has brought; She must speak of it as sacred, and sublime; She must beautify, not shame it, by her speech and by her thought; Till they listen, and respect it, for all time.

From the heart they rested under ere they saw the light of day, Must the daughters and the sons be taught this truth; Till they think of it with wonder, as a holy thing alway; While love's wisdom guides them safely through their youth.

Oh, the world has made its devil, and the Mothers let it grow; And the Man has dragged their thoughts down to the earth.

There will be no Social Evil, when each waking mind shall know All the grandeur and the beauty hid in birth.

When each Mother sets the fashion to win confidence, and trust, And to teach the mighty lesson, Self-Control, We can lift the great s.e.x pa.s.sion from the darkness and the dust, And enshrine it on the altar of the soul.

THE FORECAST

It may be that I dreamed a dream; it may be that I saw The forecast of a time to come by some supernal law.

I seemed to dwell in this same world, and in this modern time; Yet nowhere was there sight or sound of poverty or crime.

All strife had ceased; men were disarmed; and quiet Peace had made A thousand avenues for toil, in place of War's grim trade.

From east to west, from north to south where highways smooth and broad Tied State to State, the waste lands bloomed, like garden spots of G.o.d.

There were no beggars in the streets; there were no unemployed, For each man owned his plot of ground, and laboured and enjoyed.

Sweet children grew like garden flowers; all strong and fair to see; And when I marvelled at the sight, thus spake a Voice to me: 'All Motherhood is now an art; the greatest art on earth; And nowhere is there known the crime of one unwelcome birth From rights of parentage the sick and sinful are debarred; For Matron Science keeps our house, and at the door stands guard.

We know the cure for darkness lies in letting in the light; And Prisons are replaced by Schools, where wrong views change to right.

The wisdom, knowledge, study, thought, once bent on beast and sod, We give now to the human race, the highest work of G.o.d; And, as the gardener chooses seed, so we select with care; And as our Man Plant grows, we give him soil and sun and air.

There are no slums; no need of alms; all men are opulent, For Mother Earth belongs to them, as was the First Intent.'

It may be that I dreamed a dream; it may be that I saw The forecast of a time to come by some supernal law.

LITTLE GIRLS

Whether you frolic with comrade boys, Or sit at your studies, or play with toys, Whatever your station, or place, or sphere, For just one purpose G.o.d sent you here; And always and ever, you are to me - Dear little Mothers, of Men to be.

So would I guard you from all mean things; From the dwarfing of wealth, and from poverty's stings.

And from silly mothers of fuss and show, And from dissolute fathers whose aims are low, I would take you, and shield you, and set you free, Dear little Mothers, of Men to be.

And then were the wish of my heart fulfilled, Around about you, the world should build A wall of Wisdom, with Truth for its Tower, Where mind and body would wax in power, Till the tender twig was a splendid tree - Dear little Mothers, of Men to be.

It is only a dream; but the world grows wise, And a mighty truth in the dream seed lies That shall gladden the earth, in its time and place.

WE MUST BETTER THE MOTHERS TO BETTER THE RACE.

A dream? nay, a vision, which all must see, Dear little Mothers, of Men to be.

SCIENCE

Alone I climb the steep ascending path Which leads to knowledge. In the babbling throngs That hurry after, shouting to the world Small fragments of large truths, there is not one Who comprehends my purpose, or who sees The ultimate great goal. Why, even she, My heaven intended Spouse, my other self, Religion, turns her beauteous face on me With hatred in the eyes, where love should dwell.

While those who call me Master blindly run, Wounding the ear of Faith with blasphemies, And making useless slaughter in my name.

Mine is the difficult slow task to blaze A road of Facts, through labyrinths of dreams To tear down Maybe and establish IS: And subst.i.tute I Know for I Believe.

I follow closely where the Seers have led: But that intangible dim path of theirs, Which may be trodden but by other Seers, I seek to render solid for the feet Of all mankind. With reverent hands I lift The mask from Mystery: and show the face Of Reason, smiling bravely on the world.

The visions of the prophets, one by one, Grew visible beneath my tireless touch: And the white secrets of elusive stars I tell aloud, to listening mult.i.tudes.

To fit the better world my toil ensures, Time will impregnate with a better race The Future's womb: and when the hour is ripe, To ready eyes of men, the alien spheres Shall seem as friendly neighbours: and my skill Shall make their music audible to ears Which will be tuned to those high harmonies.

Mine is the work to fashion, step by step, The shining Way that leads from man to G.o.d.

Though I demolish obstacles of creeds And blast tradition, from the face of earth, My hand shall open wide the door of Truth, Whose other name is Faith: and at the end Of this most holy labour, I shall turn To see Religion, with enlightened eyes, Seeking the welcome of my outstretched arms.

While all the world stands hushed and awed before The proven splendour of the Fact Supreme.

THE EARTH

To build a house, with love for architect, Ranks first and foremost in the joys of life.

And in a tiny cabin, shaped for two, The s.p.a.ce for happiness is just as great As in a palace. What a world were this If each soul born received a plot of ground; A little plot, whereon a home might rise, And beauteous green things grow!

We give the dead, The idle vagrant dead, the Potter's Field; Yet to the living not one inch of soil.

Nay, we take from them soil, and sun, and air, To fashion slums and h.e.l.l-holes for the race.

And to our poor we say, 'Go starve and die As beggars die; so gain your heritage.'

II