Thy Might alone can end it,—
This fratricidal strife.
Our souls are sick with the tale of death,
Redeem us back to life!—
That the Gleaner be glad in His gleaning.
NO MAN GOETH ALONE
Where one is,
There am I,—
No man goeth alone!
Though he fly to earth's remotest bound,
Though his soul in the depths of sin be drowned,—
No man goeth alone!
Though he take him the wings of fear, and flee
Past the outermost realms of light;
Though he weave him a garment of mystery,
And hide in the womb of night,—
No man goeth alone!
Though apart in the city's heart he dwell,
Though he wander beyond the stars,
Though he bury himself in his nethermost hell,
And vanish behind the bars,—
No man goeth alone!
For I, God, am the soul of man,
And none can Me dethrone.
Where one is,
There am I,—
No man goeth alone!
ROSEMARY
Singing, she washed
Her baby's clothes,
And, one by one,
As they were done,
She hung them in the sun to dry,
She hung them on a bush hard by,
Upon a waiting bush hard by,
A glad expectant bush hard by,
To dry in the sweet of the morning.
The while, her son,
Her little son,
Lay kicking, gleeful,
In the sun,—
Her little, naked, Virgin son.