Songs and Satires Part 4

Oh well! But he asked all the twelve, "Who am I?"

And who made reply?

As you leaped in the sea, so you spoke as you smote with the sword; "Thou art Christ, even Lord!"

John leaned on His breast, but he asked you, your strength to foresee, "Nay, lovest thou me?"

Thrice over, as thrice you denied Him, and chose you to lead His sheep and to feed; And gave you, He said, the keys of the den and the fold To have and to hold.

You were a poor jailer, oh Peter, the dreamer, who saw The death of the law In the dream of the vessel that held all the four-footed beasts, Unclean for the priests; And heard in the vision a trumpet that all men are worth The peace of the earth And rapture of heaven hereafter,--oh Peter, what power Was yours in that hour: You warder and jailer and sealer of fates and decrees, To use the big keys With which to reveal and fling wide all the soul and the scheme Of the Galilee dream, When you flashed in a trice, as later you smote with the sword: "Thou art Christ, even Lord!"

We men, Simon Peter, we men also give you the crown O'er Paul and o'er John.

We write you in capitals, make you the chief Word on the leaf.

We know you as one of our flesh, and 'tis well You are warder of h.e.l.l, And heaven's gatekeeper forever to bind and to loose-- Keep the keys if you choose.

Not rock of you, fire of you make you sublime In the annals of time.

You were called by Him, Peter, a rock, but we give you the name Of Peter the Flame.

For you struck a spark, as the spark from the shock Of steel upon rock.

The rock has his use but the flame gives the light In the way in the night:-- Oh Peter, the dreamer, impetuous, human, divine, Gnarled branch of the vine!

ALL LIFE IN A LIFE

His father had a large family Of girls and boys and he was born and bred In a barn or kind of cattle shed.

But he was a hardy youngster and grew to be A boy with eyes that sparkled like a rod Of white hot iron in the blacksmith shop.

His face was ruddy like a rising moon, And his hair was black as sheep's wool that is black.

And he had rugged arms and legs and a strong back.

And he had a voice half flute and half ba.s.soon.

And from his toes up to his head's top He was a man, simple but intricate.

And most men differ who try to delineate His life and fate.

He never seemed ashamed Of poverty or of his origin. He was a wayward child, Nevertheless though wise and mild, And thoughtful but when angered then he flamed As fire does in a forge.

When he was ten years old he ran away To be alone and watch the sea, and the stars At midnight from a mountain gorge.

When he returned his parents scolded him And threatened him with bolts and bars.

Then they grew soft for his return and gay And with their love would have enfolded him.

But even at ten years old he had a way Of gazing at you with a look austere Which gave his kinfolk fear.

He had no childlike love for father or mother, Sister or brother, They were the same to him as any other.

He was a little cold, a little queer.

His father was a laborer and now They made the boy work for his daily bread.

They say he read A book or two during these years of work.

But if there was a secret p.r.o.ne to lurk Between the pages under the light of his brow It came forth. And if he had a woman In love or out of love, or a companion or a chum, History is dumb.

So far as we know he dreamed and worked with hands And learned to know his genius' commands Or what is called one's daemon.

And this became at last the city's call.

He had now reached the age of thirty years, And found a Dream of Life and a solution For slavery of soul and even all Miseries that flow from things material.

To free the world was his soul's resolution.

But his family had great fears For him, knowing the evil Which might befall him, seeing that the light Of his own dream had blinded his mind's eyes.

They could not tell but what he had a devil.

But still in their tears despite, And warnings he departed with replies That when a man's genius calls him He must obey no matter what befalls him.

What he had in his mind was growth Of soul by watching, And the creation of eyes Over your mind's eyes to supervise A clear activity and to ward off sloth.

What he had in his mind was scotching And killing the snake of Hatred and stripping the glove From the hand of Hypocrisy and quenching the fire Of Falsehood and Unbrotherly Desire.-- What he had in his mind was simply Love.

And it was strange he preached the sword and force To establish Love, but it was not strange, Since he did this, his life took on a change.

And what he taught seems muddled at its source With moralizing and with moral strife.

For morals are merely the Truth diluted And sweetened up and suited To the business and bread of Life.

And now this City was just what you'd find A city anywhere, A turmoil and a Vanity Fair, A sort of heaven and a sort of Tophet.

There were so many leaders of his kind The city didn't care For one additional prophet.

He said some extravagant things And planted a few stings Under the rich man's hide.

And one of the sensational newspapers Gave him a line or two for cutting capers In front of the Palace of Justice and the Church.

But all of the first grade people took the other side Of the street when they saw him coming With a rag tag crowd singing and humming, And curious boys and men up in a perch Of a tree or window taking the spectacle in, And the Corybantic din Of a Salvation Army as it were.

And whatever he dreamed when he lived in a little town The intelligent people ignored him, and this is the stir And the only stir he made in the city.

But there was a certain sinister Fellow who came to him hearing of his renown And said "You can be Mayor of this city, We need a man like you for Mayor."

And others said "You'd make a lawyer or a politician, Look how the people follow you; Why don't you hire out as a special writer, You could become a business man, a rhetorician, You could become a player, You can grow rich. There's nothing for a fighter, Fighting as you are, but to end in ruin."

But he turned from them on his way pursuing The dream he had in view.

He had a rich man or two Who took up with him against the powerful frown Which looked him down.

For you'll always find a rich man or two To take up with anything.

There are those who can't get into society or bring Their riches to a social recognition; Or ill-formed souls who lack the real patrician Spirit for life.

But as for him he didn't care, he pa.s.sed Where the richness of living was rife.

And like wise Goethe talking to the last With cabmen rather than with lords He sat about the markets and the fountains, He walked about the country and the mountains, Took trips upon the lakes and waded fords Barefooted, laughing as a young animal Disports itself amid the festival Of warm winds, suns.h.i.+ne, summer's carnival-- With laborers, carpenters, seamen And some loose women.

And certain notable sinners Gave him dinners.

And he went to weddings and to places where youth slakes Its thirst for happiness, and they served him cakes And wine wherever he went.

And he ate and drank and spent His time in feasting and in telling stories, And singing poems of lilies and of trees, With crowds of people crowded around his knees That searched with lightning secrets hidden Of life and of life's glories, Of death and of the soul's way after death.

Time makes amends usually for scandal's breath, Which touched him to his earthly ruination.

But this city had a Civic Federation, And a certain social order which intrigues Through churches, courts, with an endless ramification Of money and morals to save itself.

And this city had a Bar a.s.sociation, Also its Public Efficiency Leagues For laying honest men upon the shelf While making private pelf Secure and free to increase.

And this city had ill.u.s.trious Pharisees And this city had a legion Of men who make a business of religion, With eyes one inch apart, Dark and narrow of heart, Who give themselves and give the city no peace, And who are everywhere the best police For Life as business.

And when they saw this youth Was telling the truth, And that his followers were multiplying, And were going about rejoicing and defying The social order and were stirring up The dregs of discontent in the cup With the hand of their own happiness, They saw dynamic mysteries In the poems of lilies and trees, Therefore they held him for a felony.

If you will take a kernel of wheat And first make free The outer flake and then pare off the meat Of edible starch you'll find at the kernel's core The life germ. And this young man's words were dim With blasphemy, sedition at the rim, Which fired the heads of dreamers like new wine.

But this was just the outward force of him.

For this young man's philosophy was more Than such external ferment, being divine With secrets so profound no plummet line Can altogether sound it. It means growth Of soul by watching, And the creation of eyes Over your mind's eyes to supervise A clear activity and to ward off sloth.

What he had in mind was scotching And killing the snake of Hatred and stripping the glove From the hand of Hypocrisy and quenching the fire Of falsehood and unbrotherly Desire.

What he had in mind was simply Love.

But he was prosecuted As a rebel and as a rebel executed Right in a public place where all could see.

And his mother watched him hang for the felony.

He hated to die being but thirty-three, And fearing that his poems might be lost.

And certain members of the Bar a.s.sociation, And of the Civic Federation, And of the League of Public Efficiency, And a legion Of men devoted to religion, With policemen, soldiers, roughs, Loose women, thieves and toughs, Came out to see him die, And hooted at him giving up the ghost In great despair and with a fearful cry!

And after him there was a man named Paul Who almost spoiled it all.

And protozoan things like hypocrites, And parasitic things who make a food Of the mysteries of G.o.d for earthly power Must wonder how before this young man's hour They lived without his blood, Shed on that day, and which In red cells is so rich.