Out from the smoke we have sent them,
Into the sunshine to play,
Out of the darkest of alleys
Into the brightness of day.
Friends they shall find in the orchard,
Butterflies, bird-nests, and cows;
Feasts they shall pluck from the fruit trees,
Palaces build in their boughs.
Voices that whined in a cellar,
Laughing, shall send a clear shout
When they have caught on the brook-bank
Splishety splash! their first trout.
Out of the smoke to protect them,
Mother has gone with her brood,
Glad to forget for the moment
Struggles for stockings and food.
Back to the smoke they'll be coming,
Out from the sunshine and play,
Back to the darkest of alleys,
Out of the brightness of day.
But if the winter bring hunger
And the cold rooms, discontent,
Courage will come as they vision
Summer days heavenly spent.
So from the smoke we must send them,
Into the sunshine to play,
Out of the darkest of alleys
Into the brightness of day.

GOD OF MY BROTHER

Father of Workmen and Giver of Rest,
Smile on Thy sons as they build
Cities and nations who long to be blest,
Craftsmen enrolled in God's Guild.
And to my brother who toils with the rest
Where the shops roar with power,
Grant hardy courage as strong as his breast,
Bared to the task of the hour.
Send him each morning with ardor renewed
Back to his task begun;
Show him Thy face in his goals pursued
And in all work nobly done.

THE DELIVERY BOY

I've noticed that no one has bothered to write
The praise of a poor little shivering mite
Like me in a story or leather-bound book
To read in the glow of a warm ingle nook;
No painter sees art in my wind-blistered cheeks,
Or picturesque poses in me ever seeks;
I'm nothing unusual, nothing sublime,
My gentlest endearment is, “Get here on time.”
I'm never too tired to be sent out at night
At some one's request for fresh thrills of delight;
It may be a dress, or it may be a flower—
Whatever it be, it must come on the hour.
How seldom the voice at the door tells me “Thanks”!
How rarely one heart from the great human ranks
Inquires of my soul, if it be weak or well,
When maybe I'm verging the borders of hell.
For no one has thought me a subject for song,
Or singled me out from the hustling throng;
I'm nothing pathetic, nothing sublime,
I'm only worth while when I “get there” on time.

HYMN FOR HUMANITY

O God, divinely discontent
With men's unmended ways,
How great the love Thou gladly spent
And spendest still, always,
In calling men until they see
Thy perfect world-design
Of Corporate Humanity
With Christ its Head divine!
With Christ its Head divine, supreme,
Connecting every limb
With tender nerves that tangled seem,
Yet all return to Him;
In love directing every part
And sensing every shock
That palpitates the common heart
Till all its chambers rock.
How can the eye offend the hand,
Or tongue revile the arm,
Or foot prefer alone to stand,
Without some mutual harm?
God made us partners, man to man,
And gave us Christ for kin;
Shall we destroy His perfect plan
By selfishness and sin?
O God, make us as discontent
As Thou art with our ways;
Help us to spend the love Thou sent
With Christ, who stays always
To speak with us until we see
Thy perfect world-design,
Of Corporate Humanity
With Christ, its Head divine.