II — OUTSIDE CHURCH

We whose days and ways

All the night makes dark,

What day shall we praise

Of these weary days

That our life-drops mark?

We whose mind is blind,

Fed with hope of nought;

Wastes of worn mankind,

Without heart or mind,

Without meat or thought;

We with strife of life

Worn till all life cease,

Want, a whetted knife,

Sharpening strife on strife,

How should we love peace?

Ye whose meat is sweet

And your wine-cup red,

Us beneath your feet

Hunger grinds as wheat,

Grinds to make you bread.

Ye whose night is bright

With soft rest and heat,

Clothed like day with light,

Us the naked night

Slays from street to street.

Hath your God no rod,

That ye tread so light?

Man on us as God,

God as man hath trod,

Trod us down with might.

We that one by one

Bleed from either's rod.

What for us hath done

Man beneath the sun,

What for us hath God?

We whose blood is food

Given your wealth to feed,

From the Christless rood

Red with no God's blood,

But with man's indeed;

How shall we that see

Nightlong overhead

Life, the flowerless tree,

Nailed whereon as we

Were our fathers dead -

We whose ear can hear,

Not whose tongue can name,

Famine, ignorance, fear,

Bleeding tear by tear

Year by year of shame,

Till the dry life die

Out of bloodless breast,

Out of beamless eye,

Out of mouths that cry

Till death feed with rest -

How shall we as ye,

Though ye bid us, pray?

Though ye call, can we

Hear you call, or see,

Though ye show us day?

We whose name is shame,

We whose souls walk bare,

Shall we call the same

God as ye by name,

Teach our lips your prayer?

God, forgive and give,

For His sake who died?

Nay, for ours who live,

How shall we forgive

Thee, then, on our side?

We whose right to light

Heaven's high noon denies,

Whom the blind beams smite

That for you shine bright,

And but burn our eyes,

With what dreams of beams

Shall we build up day,

At what sourceless streams

Seek to drink in dreams

Ere they pass away?

In what street shall meet,

At what market-place,

Your feet and our feet,

With one goal to greet,

Having run one race?

What one hope shall ope

For us all as one

One same horoscope,

Where the soul sees hope

That outburns the sun?

At what shrine what wine,

At what board what bread,

Salt as blood or brine,

Shall we share in sign

How we poor were fed?

In what hour what power

Shall we pray for morn,

If your perfect hour,

When all day bears flower,

Not for us is born?