VIII
But hark! as if some league-long barrier broke
To let wide waters in tumultuously,
I hear the voices of the outland folk
From sea to sea—yea, rolling over-sea:
“You shall not limit his large glory thus,
You shall not mete his greatness with a span!
This man belongs to us,
Gentile and Jew, Teuton and Celt and Russ
And whatso else we be!
This man belongs to Man!
And never, till a flood of love efface
The hard distrusts that sever race from race,
Comes his true jubilee!
Never, till all the wars,
Yea, even the noble wars that strive to peace,
With all the thunder of all the drums shall cease,
And all the booming guns on all the brother-shores;
Never, till that worst strife of every day,
More bitter-sordid than the clash of steel,
By some new solving word our lips may learn to say,
Be wholly done away,
Deep-drowned in brotherhood, quenched in the common weal,
Ah, never, till every spirit shall stand up free,
Comes the great Liberator’s jubilee!”
The
Temple Press
Letchworth
ENGLAND