Wise of the brief beloved span Of this our glad earth-travelling, Of beauty's bloom and ordered plan, Of love and love's compassioning, Of all the dear delights that spring From man's communion with man; We cherish every hour that strays Adown the cataract of the days.' 'We see the dear untroubled skies, We see the glory of the rose, And, laugh, nor grieve that clouds will rise And wax with every wind that blows, Nor that the blossoming time will close, For beauty seen of humble eyes Immortal habitation has Though beauty's form may pale and pass. Wise of the great unshapen age, To which we move with measured tread All girt with passionate truth to wage High battle for the word unsaid, The song unsung, the cause unled, The freedom that no hope can gauge; Strong-armed, sure-footed, iron-willed We sift and weave, we break and build. Into one hour we gather all The years gone down, the years unwrought, Upon our ears brave measures fall Across uncharted spaces brought, Upon our lips the words are caught Wherewith the dead the unborn call; From love to love, from height to height We press and none may curb our might.' VII O blessed voices, O compassionate hands, Calling and healing, O great-hearted brothers! I come to you. Ring out across the lands Your benediction, and I too will sing With you, and haply kindle in another's Dark desolate hour the flame you stirred in me. O bountiful earth, in adoration meet I bow to you; O glory of years to be, I too will labour to your fashioning. Go down, go down, unweariable feet, Together we will march towards the ways Wherein the marshalled hosts of morning wait In sleepless watch, with banners wide unfurled Across the skies in ceremonial state, To greet the men who lived triumphant days, And stormed the secret beauty of the world. * * * * * JAMES ELROY FLECKER JOSEPH AND MARY Joseph: Mary, art thou the little maid Who plucked me flowers in Spring? I know thee not; I feel afraid: Thou'rt strange this evening. A sweet and rustic girl I won What time the woods were green; No woman with deep eyes that shone, And the pale brows of a Queen. Mary: (inattentive to his words) A stranger came with feet of flame And told me this strange thing,-- For all I was a village maid My son should be a King. Joseph: A King, dear wife? Who ever knew Of Kings in stables born! Mary: Do you hear, in the dark and starlit blue The clarion and the horn? Joseph: Mary, alas, lest grief and joy Have sent thy wits astray; But let me look on this my boy, And take the wraps away. Mary: Behold the lad. Joseph: I dare not gaze: Light streams from every limb. Mary: The winter sun has stored his rays, And passed the fire to him. Look Eastward, look! I hear a sound. O Joseph, what do you see? Joseph: