THE FIRES OF GOD

Time gathers to my name;

Along the ways wheredown my feet have passed

I see the years with little triumph crowned,

Exulting not for perils dared, downcast

And weary-eyed and desolate for shame

Of having been unstirred of all the sound

Of the deep music of the men that move

Through the world’ s days in suffering and love.

Poor barren years that brooded over-much

On your own burden, pale and stricken years —

Go down to your oblivion, we part

With no reproach or ceremonial tears.

Henceforth my hands are lifted to the touch

Of hands that labour with me, and my heart

Hereafter to the world’ s heart shall be set

And its own pain forget.

Time gathers to my name —

Days dead are dark; the days to be, a flame

Of wonder and of promise, and great cries

Of travelling people reach me — I must rise.