Bees in Amber Part 5

_Hark! The drums! m.u.f.fled drums!

The long low ruffle of the drums_!-- And every head is bowed, In the vast expectant crowd, As the Great Queen comes,-- By the way she knew so well, Where our cheers were wont to swell, As we tried in vain to tell Of our love unspeakable.

Now she comes To the rolling of the drums, And the slow sad tolling of the bell.

Let every head be bowed, In the silent waiting crowd, As the Great Queen comes, To the slow sad ruffle of the drums!

_Who is this that comes, To the rolling of the drums, In the sorrowful great silence of the peoples_?

Take heart of grace, She is not here!

The Great Queen is not here!

What most in her we did revere,-- The lofty spirit, white and clear, The tender love that knew no fear, The soul sincere,-- These come not here, To the rolling of the drums, In the silence and the sorrow of the peoples.

_Death has but little part In her. Love cannot die.

Who reigns in every heart Hath immortality_.

So, though our heads are bent, Our hearts are jubilant, As she comes,-- As a conqueror she comes-- With the rolling of the drums, To the stateliest of her homes, In the hearts of her true and faithful peoples.

_For the Great Queen lives for ever In the hearts of those who love her.

January, 1901_.

THE GOLDEN CORD

Through every minute of this day, Be with me, Lord!

Through every day of all this week, Be with me, Lord!

Through every week of all this year, Be with me, Lord!

Through all the years of all this life, Be with me, Lord!

So shall the days and weeks and years Be threaded on a golden cord, And all draw on with sweet accord Unto Thy fulness, Lord, That so, when time is past, By Grace, I may at last, Be with Thee, Lord.

THANK G.o.d FOR PEACE!

JUNE, 1902

_Thank G.o.d for Peace_!

Up to the sombre sky Rolled one great thankful sigh, Rolled one great gladsome cry-- The soul's deliverance of a mighty people.

_Thank G.o.d for Peace_!

The long-low-hanging war-cloud rolled away, And night glowed brighter than the brightest day.

For Peace is Light, And War is grimmer than the Night.

_Thank G.o.d for Peace_!

Great ocean, was your mighty calm unstirred As through your depths, unseen, unheard, Sped on its way the glorious word That called a weary nation to ungird, And sheathed once more the keen, reluctant sword?

_Thank G.o.d for Peace_!

The word came to us as we knelt in prayer That wars might cease.

Peace found us on our knees, and prayer for Peace Was changed to prayer of deepest thankfulness.

We knelt in War, we rose in Peace to bless Thy grace, Thy care, Thy tenderness.

_Thank G.o.d for Peace_!

No matter now the rights and wrongs of it; You fought us bravely, and we fought you fair.

The fight is done. Grip hands! No malice bear!

We greet you, brothers, to the n.o.bler strife Of building up the newer, larger life!

Join hands! Join hands! Ye nations of the stock!

And make henceforth a mighty Trust for Peace.

A great enduring peace that shall withstand The shocks of time and circ.u.mstance; and every land Shall rise and bless you--and shall never cease To bless you--for that glorious gift of Peace.

G.o.d'S HANDWRITING

He writes in characters too grand For our short sight to understand; We catch but broken strokes, and try To fathom all the mystery Of withered hopes, of death, of life, The endless war, the useless strife,-- But there, with larger, clearer sight, We shall see this--His way was right.

STEPHEN--SAUL

Stephen, who died while I stood by consenting, Wrought in his death the making of a life, Bruised one hard heart to thought of swift repenting, Fitted one fighter for a n.o.bler strife.

Stephen, the Saint, triumphant and forgiving, Prayed while the hot blows beat him to the earth.

Was that a dying? Rather was it living!-- Through his soul's travail my soul came to birth.

Stephen, the Martyr, full of faith and fearless, Smiled when his bruised lips could no longer pray,-- Smiled with a courage undismayed and peerless,-- Smiled!--and that smile is with me, night and day.

O, was it _I_ that stood there, all consenting?

_I_--at whose feet the young men's clothes were laid?

Was it _my_ will that wrought that hot tormenting?

My heart that boasted over Stephen, dead?

Yes, it was I. And sore to me the telling.

Yes, it was I. And thought of it has been G.o.d's potent spur my whole soul's might compelling These outer darknesses for Him to win.

PAUL

Bond-slave to Christ, and in my bonds rejoicing, Earmarked to Him I counted less than nought; His man henceforward, eager to be voicing That wondrous Love which Saul the Roman sought.

Sought him and found him, working bitter sorrow; Found him and claimed him, chose him for his own; Bound him in darkness, till the glorious morrow Unsealed his eyes to that he had not known.