The full moon is the Shield of Faith: As long as it shall rise, I know that Mystery comes again, That Wonder never dies. I know that Shadow has its place, That Noon is not our goal, That Heaven has non-official hours To soothe and mend the soul; That witchcraft can be angel-craft And wizard deeds sublime; That utmost darkness bears a flower, Though long the budding-time. THE ROSE OF MIDNIGHT [What the Gardener's Daughter Said] The moon is now an opening flower, The sky a cliff of blue. The moon is now a silver rose; Her pollen is the dew. Her pollen is the mist that swings Across her face of dreams: Her pollen is the faint cold light That through the garden streams. All earth is but a passion-flower With blood upon his crown. And what shall fill his failing veins And lift his head, bowed down? This cup of peace, this silver rose Bending with fairy breath Shall lift that passion-flower, the earth, A million times from Death! THE PATH IN THE SKY I sailed a little shallop Upon a pretty sea In blue and hazy mountains, Scarce mountains unto me; Their summits lost in wonder, They wrapped the lake around, And when my shallop landed I trod on a vague ground, And climbed and climbed toward heaven, Though scarce before my feet I found one step unveiled there The blue-haze vast, complete, Until I came to Zion The gravel paths of God: My endless trail pierced the thick veil To flaming flowers and sod. I rested, looked behind me And saw where I had been. _My little lake. It was the moon._ Sky-mountains closed it in. * * * * * PROCLAMATIONS _Immediately upon my return from my journey the following Proclamations were printed in Farm and Fireside, through the great kindness of the editors, as another phase of the same crusade._ A PROCLAMATION OF BALM IN GILEAD Go to the fields, O city laborers, till your wounds are healed. Forget the street-cars, the skyscrapers, the slums, the Marseillaise song. We proclaim to the broken-hearted, still able to labor, the glories of the ploughed land. The harvests are wonderful. And there is a spiritual harvest appearing. A great agricultural flowering of art and song is destined soon to appear. Where corn and wheat are growing, men are singing the psalms of David, not the Marseillaise.