You are at least a man, of men a king. You have a heart, and with that heart you love. The race you come from is not gendered of The filthy sty whose latest litter cling Round England’s flesh-pots, gorged and gluttoning. No, but on flaming battle-fields, in courts Of honour and of danger old resorts, The name of Hohen-Zollern clear doth ring. O Father William, you, not falsely weak, Who never spared the rod to spoil the child, Our mighty Germany, we only speak To bless you with a blessing sweet and mild, Ere that near heaven your weary footsteps seek Where love with liberty is reconciled. SONG OF THE DISPOSSESSED. “TO JESUS.” “Be with us by day, by night, O lover, O friend; Hold before us thy light Unto the end! “See, all these children of ours Starved and ill-clad. Speak to thy heart’s lily-flowers, And make them glad! “Our wives and daughters are here, Knowing wrong and shame’s touch Bid them be of good cheer Who have lovèd much. “And we, we are robbed and oppressed, Even as thine were. Tell us of comfort and rest, Banish despair! “_Be with us by day_, _by night_, _O lover_, _O friend_; _Hold before us thy light_ _Unto the end_!” ART. Yes, let Art go, if it must be That with it men must starve— If Music, Painting, Poetry Spring from the wasted hearth. Pluck out the flower, however fair, Whose beauty cannot bloom, (However sweet it be, or rare) Save from a noisome tomb. These social manners, charm and ease, Are hideous to who knows The degradation, the disease From which their beauty flows. So, Poet, must thy singing be; O Painter, so thy scene; Musician, so thy melody, While misery is queen. _Nay_, _brothers_, _sing us battle-songs_ _With clear and ringing rhyme_; _Nay_, _show the world its hateful wrongs_, _And bring the better time_! THE PEASANTS’ REVOLT. {35} Thro’ the mists of years, Thro’ the lies of men, Your bloody sweat and tears, Your desperate hopes and fears Reach us once again. Brothers, who long ago, For life’s bitter sake Toiled and suffered so, Robbery, insult, blow, Rope and sword and stake: Toiled and suffered, till It burst, the brightening hope, “Might and right” and “will and skill,” That scorned, and does, and will, Sword and stake and rope! Wat and Jack and John, Tyler, Straw, and Ball, Souls that faltered not, Hearts like white iron hot, Still we hear your call! Yes, your “bell is rung,” Yes, for “now is time!” Come hither, every one, Brave ghosts whose day’s not done, Avengers of old rime,— Come and lead the way, Hushed, implacable, Suffering no delay, Forgetting not that day Dreadful, hateful, fell,