If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know to-day,
I would guard my passions as Kings guard treasures,
And keep them high and clean.
(For the will of a man, with his passions, measures;
It is strong as they are keen.)
I would think of each woman as some one’s mother;
I would think of each man as my own blood brother,
And speed him along on his way.
And the glory of life in this wonderful hour
Should fill me and thrill me with Conscious power,
If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know to-day.
WE MUST SEND THEM OUT TO PLAY
Now much there is need of doing must not be done in haste;
But slowly and with patience, as a jungle is changed to a town.
But listen, my brothers, listen; it is not always so:
When a murderer’s hand is lifted to kill, there is no time to waste;
And the way to change his purpose is first to knock him down
And teach him the law of kindness after you give him the blow.
The acorn you plant in the morning will not give shade at noon;
And the thornless cactus must be bred by year on year of toil.
But listen, my brothers, listen; it is not ever the way,
For the roots of the poison ivy plant you cannot pull too soon;
If you would better your garden and make the most of your soil,
Hurry and dig up the evil things and cast them out to-day.
The ancient sin of the nations no law can ever efface;
We must wait for the mothers of men to grow, and give clean souls to their sons.
But listen, my brothers, listen—when a child cries out in pain,
We must rise from the banquet board and go, though the host is saying grace;
We must rise and find the Herod of Greed, who is killing our little ones,
Nor ever go back to the banquet until the monster is slain.
The strong man waits for justice, with lifted soul and eyes,
As a sturdy oak will face the storm, and does not break or bow.
But listen, my brothers, listen; the child is a child for a day;
If a merciless foot treads down each shoot, how can the forest rise?
We are robbing the race when we rob a child; we must rescue the children NOW;
We must rescue the little slaves of Greed and send them out to play.
PROTEST
To sit in silence when we should protest
Makes cowards out of men. The human race
Has climbed on protest. Had no voice been raised
Against injustice, ignorance and lust
The Inquisition yet would serve the law
And guillotines decide our least disputes.
The few who dare must speak and speak again
To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank God,
No vested power in this great day and land
Can gag or throttle; Press and voice may cry
Loud disapproval of existing ills,
May criticise oppression and condemn
The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws
That let the children and child-bearers toil
To purchase ease for idle millionaires,
Therefore do I protest against the boast
Of independence in this mighty land.
Call no chain strong which holds one rusted link,
Call no land free that holds one fettered slave
Until the manacled, slim wrists of babes
Are loosed to toss in childish sport and glee,
Until the Mother bears no burden save
The precious one beneath her heart; until
God’s soil is rescued from the clutch of greed
And given back to labour, let no man
Call this the Land of Freedom.
REWARD
Fate used me meanly; but I looked at her and laughed,
That none might know how bitter was the cup I quaffed.
Along came Joy, and paused beside me where I sat,
Saying, ‘I came to see what you were laughing at.’