THE BREAKING OF CHAINS
Between the ringing of bells and the musical clang of chimes
I hear a sound like the breaking of chains, all through these Christmas times.
For the thought of the world is waking out of a slumber deep and long,
And the race is beginning to understand how Right can master Wrong.
And the eyes of the world are opening wide, and great are the truths they see;
And the heart of the world is singing a song, and its burden is ‘Be free!’
Now the thought of the world and the wish of the world and the song of the world will make
A force so strong that the fetters forged for a million years must break.
Fetters of superstitious fear have bound the race to creeds
That hindered the upward march of man to the larger faith he needs.
Fetters of greed and pride have made the race bow down to kings;
But the pompous creed and the costly throne must yield to simpler things.
The thought of the world has climbed above old paths for centuries trod;
And cloth and crown no longer mean the ‘vested power of God.’
The race no longer bends beneath the weight of Adam’s sin,
But stands erect and knows itself the Maker’s first of kin.
And the need of the world and the wish of the world and the song of the world I hear,
All through the clanging and clashing of bells, this Christmas time o’ the year;
And I hear a sound like the breaking of chains, and it seems to say to me,
In the voice of One who spoke of old, ‘The Truth shall make men free.’
DECEMBER
Upon December’s windy portico
The Old Year stood, and looked out where the sun
Went wading down the West, through drifting clouds.
‘I, too, shall sink full soon to rest,’ he sighed,
‘And follow where my children’s feet have trod;
Brave January, beauteous May and June,
My lovely daughters, and my valiant sons,
All, all save one, have left me for that bourne
Men call the Past. It seems but yesterday
I saw fair August, laughing with the Sea,
Snaring the Earth with her seductive wiles,
And making conquest, even of the Sun.
Yet has she gone, and left me here to mourn.’
Then spake December, from an open door:
‘Father, the night grows cold; come in and rest.
Sit with me here beside this glowing grate;
I have not left thee; thou art not alone;
My house is thine; all warm with love and light,
And bright with holly and with cedar sweet.
My stalwart arm is thine to lean upon;
The feast is spread, I only wait for thee;
God smiles upon thy dead, smile thou on me.’
Then through the open door the Old Year passed
And darkness settled on the outer world.
‘THE WAY’
However certain of the way thou art,
Take not the self-appointed leader’s part.
Follow no man, and by no man be led,
And no man lead. Awake, and go ahead.
Thy path, though leading straight unto the goal
Might prove confusing to another soul.
The goal is central; but from east, and west,
And north, and south, we set out on the quest;
From lofty mountains, and from valleys low:—
How could all find one common way to go?