Of all sounds out of the soul of sorrow These I would hear no more: The cry of a new-born child at midnight; The sound of a closing door, That hushes the echo of departing feet When the loneliness of the room Is haunted with the silence Of a dead god's tomb; The songs of robins at the white dawn, Since I may never see The eyes they waked in the April Now gone from me; Music into whose essence entered The soul of an hour:-- A face, a voice, the touch of a hand, The scent of a flower. MOURNIN' FOR RELIGION Brothers and sisters, I'm mournin' for religion, But I can't get religion, it's my woman interferin'. I sing and I pray, and I'm real perseverin', But I can't get religion, That's all I have to say. I know there is a fountain, a Jesus, a comforter, A heaven, a Jerusalem, a day of Pentecost, Salvation for the wishin', blood for sin's remission, A covenant, a promise for souls that are lost. But I can't get religion, the salvation feelin', The vision of the Lamb, forgiveness and healin'. I have a sort of numbness When I see the mourners kneelin'. I have a kind of dumbness When the preacher is appealin'. I have a kind of wariness, even contrariness, Even while I'm fearin' The bottomless pit and the shut gates of heaven. It's my woman interferin'-- For you see when they say: Come to the mercy seat, come, come, The spirit and the bride Say come, come, I think of my woman who bore so many children; I think of her a cookin' for harvesters in summer; I think of her a lyin' there, a dyin' there, the neighbors Who came in to fan her and how she never murmured; And then I seem to grow number and number, And something in me says: Why didn't Jesus help her for to die, Why did Jesus always pass her by, Let her break her health down as I was growing poorer, Let her lie and suffer with no medicine to cure her, I wouldn't treat a stray dog as Jesus acted to her. If these are devil words, I'm a child of the devil. And this is why I'm dumb As the spirit and the bride say come! * * * * * I am old and crippled--sixty in December. And I wonder if it's God that stretches out and hands us Troubles we remember? I'm alone besides, I need the Comforter, All the children's grown up, livin' out in Kansas. My old friend Billy died of lung fever.... But the worst of it is I'm really a believer, Expect to go to hell if I don't get religion. And I need this religion to stop this awful grievin' About my woman lyin' there in the cemetery, And you can't stop that grievin' simply by believin'. So I mourn for religion, I mourn for religion, My old heart breaks for religion! THYAMIS