Bees in Amber Part 6

WAKENING

This mortal dies,-- But, in the moment when the light fails here, The darkness opens, and the vision clear Breaks on his eyes.

The vail is rent,-- On his enraptured gaze heaven's glory breaks, He was asleep, and in that moment wakes.

MACEDONIA, 1903

Devils' work!

Devils' work, my masters!

_Britain, your hands are red_!

You may close your heart, but you cannot s.h.i.+rk This terrible fact,--_We--kept--the--Turk_.

His day was past and we knew his work, But he played our game, so we kept the Turk, For our own sake's sake we kept the Turk.

_Britain, your hands are red_!

Red are the walls and the ways, _And--Britain, your hands are red_!

There is blood on the hearth, and blood in the well, And the whole fair land is a red, red h.e.l.l,-- _Britain, your hands are red_!

"_Come over! Come over and help us_!"

We are deaf to the ancient cry.

--"_For the sake of our women and children_!"

And Britain stands quietly by.

_O Britain, your hands are red_!

_Cleanse your hands, Britain_!

Yea, cleanse them in blood if it _must_ be!

For blood that is shed in the cause of right Has power, as of old, to wash souls white.

_Cleanse your hands, Britain_!

O for the fiery grace of old,-- The heart and the masterful hand!

But grace grows dim and the fire grows cold, We are heavy with greed and l.u.s.t and gold, And life creeps low in the land.

_Break your bonds, Britain_!

Stand up once again for the right!

We have stained our hands in the times that are past, Before G.o.d, we would wash them white.

_For the Nations are in the proving; Each day is Judgment Day; And the peoples He finds wanting Shall pa.s.s--by the winding way_.

HEARTS IN EXILE

O Exiled Hearts--for you, for you-- Love still can find the way!

_Hear the voices of the women on the road_!

O Shadowed Lives--for you, for you-- Hope hath not lost her ray!

_Hear the laughter of the children on the road_!

O Gloomy Night--for you, for you-- Dawn tells of coming day!

_Hear the clink of breaking fetters on the road_!

O Might sans Right--for you, for you-- The feet of crumbling clay!

_Hear the slow, sure tread of Freedom on the road_!

WANDERED

The wind blows shrill along the hill, --_Black is the night and cold_-- The sky hangs low with its weight of snow, And the drifts are deep on the wold.

But what care I for wind or snow?

And what care I for the cold?

_Oh ... where is my lamb-- My one ewe lamb-- That strayed from the fold_?

The beasts are safely gathered in, --_Black is the night and cold_-- They are snug and warm, and safe from harm, In stall and byre and fold.

And the dogs and I, by the blazing fire, Care nought for the snow and the cold.

_Oh ... where is my lamb-- My one ewe lamb-- That strayed from the fold_?

The barns are bursting with their store Of grain like yellow gold; A full, fat year has brought good cheer, --_Black is the night and cold_.-- But ... What care I for teeming barns?

And what care I for gold?

_Oh ... where is my lamb-- My one ewe lamb-- That strayed from the fold_?

In the great kitchen, maids and men, --_Black is the night and cold_-- Laugh loud and long, with jest and song, And merry revel hold.

Let them laugh and sing, let them have their fling, But for me--I am growing old.

_Oh ... where is my lamb-- My one ewe lamb-- That strayed from the fold_?

The old house moans, and sighs and groans, --_Black is the night and cold_-- We have seen brave times, you and I, old friend, But now--we are growing old.

We have stood foursquare to many a storm, But now--we are growing old.

_Oh ... where is my lamb-- My one ewe lamb-- That strayed from the fold_?

Her mother sleeps on the hill out there, --_Black is the night and cold_,-- She is free from care, she is happier there, Beneath the warm brown mould.

And I've sometimes hoped they may have met, And the end of the tale be told.

_Ah ... where is our lamb-- Our one ewe lamb-- That strayed from the fold_?

Was that a branch that shed its load?

--_Black is the night and cold_,-- Or--was it a footstep in the snow-- A timid footstep--halting, slow?

Ah me! I am getting old!

Is that a tapping--soft and low?

Can it be ... I thought I heard ... but no, 'Twas only a branch that shed its snow,-- G.o.d's truth! I am getting old!

_For I thought ... maybe It was my lamb Come home again to the fold_.

Dear Lord! a hand at the frozen pane!

--_White on the night's black cold_-- O my lamb! my lamb! are you come again?

My dear lost lamb, are you come again?