Earth listens for the coming of his feet; The hushed Fates lean expectant from their seat. He will be calm and reverent and strong, And, carrying in his words the fire of song, Will send a hope upon these weary men, A hope to make the heart grow young again, A cry to comrades scattered and afar: _Be constellated, star by circling star; Give to all mortals justice and forgive: License must die that liberty may live. Let Love shine through the fabric of the State— Love deathless, Love whose other name is Fate. Fear not: we cannot fail— The Vision will prevail. Truth is the Oath of God, and, sure and fast, Through Death and Hell holds onward to the last._ Art _To Howard Pyle_ At her light touch, behold! a voice proceeds Out of all things to chide our sordid deeds; A beauty breaks, a beauty ever strange, The Changeless that is back of all the change. Lightly it comes as when a rose would be— Takes feature yet remains a mystery. On Seeing Vedder’s “Pleiades” I hear a burst of music on the night! Look at the white whirl of their bodies, see The sweep of arms seraphical and free, And over their heads a rush of circling light, That draws them on with mystery and might: But O the wild dance and the deathless song, And O the lifted faces glad and strong— Eternal passion burning still and white! But she who glances downward, who is she, Her face stilled with the shadow of a pain? The one who let all go for that mad chance? And does some sudden gust of memory, Bringing the earth, sweep back into the brain?... But O the wild white whirl of the wild dance! The Muse of Labor _And I saw a New Heaven and a New Earth._—ST. JOHN. I come, O heroes, to the world gone wrong; I bring the hope of nations; and I bear The warm first rush of rapture in my song, The faint first light of morning on my hair. I look upon the ages from a tower; I am the Muse of the Fraternal State; No hand can hold me from my crowning hour; My song is Freedom and my step is Fate. The toilers go on broken at the heart; They send the spell of beauty on all lands; But what avail? the builders have no part— No share in all the glory of their hands. I have descended from Alcyone; I am the muse of Labor and of Mirth; I come to break the chain of infamy, That Greed’s blind hammers forge about the earth.