WORK WHILE IT IS CALLED TO-DAY
"NO man hath hired us"—strong hands drooping,
Listless, falling in idleness down;
Men in the silent market-place grouping
Round Christ's cross of silent stone.
Round Christ's cross of silent stone.
"No man hath hired us"—pale hands twining,
Stalwart forms bowed down to sue.
"The red dawn is passed, the noon is shining,
But no man hath given us work to do."
Then a voice pealed down from the heights of Heaven,
Men, it said, of the Irish soil!
I gave you a land as a Garden of Eden,
Where you and your sons should till and toil;
I set your throne by the glorious waters,
Where ocean flung round you her mighty bands,
That your sails, like those of your Tyrian fathers,
Might sweep the shores of a hundred lands.
Power I gave to the hands of your leaders,
Wisdom I gave to the lips of the wise,
And your children grew as the stately cedars,
That shadowed the rivers of Paradise.
What have ye done with my land of beauty—
Has the spoiler bereft her of robe and crown?
Have my people failed in a people's duty?
Has the wild boar trampled my vineyard down?
True, they answered, faint in replying—
Our vines are rent by the wild boar's tusks;
The corn on our golden slopes is lying,
But our children feed on the remnant husks.
Our strong men lavish their blood for others;
Our prophets and wise men are heard no more;
Our young men give a last kiss to their mothers,
From wooded valleys and mountain gorges,
Emerald meadow and purple glen,
Across the foam of the wild sea surges,
They flee away like exiled men.
Yet, the chant we hear of the new Evangels,
Rising like incense from earth's green sod;
We—we alone, before worshipping Angels,
Idly stand in the Garden of God.