OH, LET THEM SLEEP!
They tell me that the earth and sea
Will some day give up all their dead.
Oh, what a strange day that will be
To happen thus, as has been said:
Clothed in power a God will stand—
With outstretched hands this God will be—
With one foot on the sea-washed sand,
The other buried in the sea,
And loudly call: “Come forth, ye dead,
No matter where in death you fell;
Come with a sentence on your head—
You’ll make good fodder for my hell!
Come with the heartaches that died with you,
With ashes of hope within your hand:
You died as all earth’s creatures do—
Foreclosure, at Death’s demand.
Come before me for sentence now—
Come ev’ry one—I know you all:
A few shall wear the glory brow,
But many, many must go to hell!”
“Oh, stay your hand, revengeful God,
And let us all sleep where we lie!
You know that man is but a clod—
Was born to suffer and to die:
And life is but chaotic dreams;
With human love our one reward;
We drifted down life’s midnight streams
To stem the tide we found too hard.
“Oh, let us sleep, revengeful God,
Oblivion seems to fit us well;
Here, mingled with the friendly clod,
Is better far than pagan hell.”
But this strange God will pay no heed
To all the bitter cries that well—
Cold as a rock, with savage greed,
He’ll cast them into scorching hell!
* * * * *
A savage giant captured men,
And took their wives and children, too,
And put them in a dismal pen,
And asked himself what he must do.
He ne’er had eaten human flesh—
His soul revolted at the thought;
The clothes they wore were only trash,
By their own hands they had been wrought.
“I’ll torture them,” the giant said,
“To see them writhe and twist with pain;
I’ll watch them in their torture bed,
And hear them weep and wail in vain.”
And, while he planned, the pris’ners slept.
A mother drew close to her breast
The babe that had so loudly wept,
And soon they both had sunk to rest.
And now the giant loudly called;
“Come forth, ye creatures of the damn’d
And in this pit, so strangely walled,
I’ll torture you, as I have planned,
Forever you shall weep and cry—
’Twill be sweet music in my ears—
For you shall never, never die
While eternity winds up the years!”
* * * * *
I made this giant—who made this God,
To do the work my giant schemed?
For spirit ne’er this cold world trod
With such a heart as brute man dreamed.
The God who loves the blooming flower,
Who tuned the voice of child and bird,
Would never use his God-like power
To conjure tortures so absurd.
No! No! and when the earth and sea
Give up the dead they’re holding fast,
A God of love and life there’ll be
Forgiving man his painful past;
For, would a God who can forgive,
Call back the dead from where they sleep,
And take delight to have them live,
Where they eternally must weep?
If this be true, then keep your dead,
Oh, tear-washed earth and troubled sea!
And let them sleep within their bed
To rest throughout eternity.