Taken by them in turn for toil That starves the tiller of the soil; Will seek to know the reason why The millions in their hunger cry. His clear, calm eyes will pierce excuse Of man defending his abuse Of power; like a two-edge sword Will be dividing of his word. He will not quote some ancient saw-- A text of scripture from the Law, Nor will he seek by miracle To blind all reason; he will tell The tyrant and the turbaned priest: "Because ye did it to the least Of these my brothers, made their world Hell--to that hell be also hurled! "Forth from your lands into the street; Huckster and harlot, beggar meet; Lift from each head its crown of thorn, And kiss those feet the nails have torn! "Into the hell of every hate, Vice and foul lust insatiate, Descend and learn what ye have done, Who from earth's children stole the sun; "Stole field and forest, mountain, river-- Pretending that some royal giver Bestowed them on your sculptored sires Sleeping beneath their ancient spires! "Ye who have taught that God is wrath; Ye who have driven down the path Of fear the frightened souls of men; Ye who have made His house a den "For thieves to bargain gold for grace: Ye hypocrites with pious faces And downcast eyes, your litanies-- Your candle-lights and threnodies "Rise not to Him who clothes the grass With glory and whose holy Mass Is in the olive and the vine-- Not in your wafer and your wine!" Send such a man again on earth, As He whom Mary brought to birth, And whom the people in their pride Rejected and then crucified! Only, O God of stone and star! We will not hale him to the bar Of Pilate and Caïaphas; We will lift up the gates of brass And open wide our golden doors, Proclaiming while his splendour pours Over the world he comes to win: "The King of Glory shall come in!" MATINS Good morning, friend! What of the night? Through yonder cloud one shaft of light, Shot from the bow of Hunter Day, Strikes on the world; his hound-winds bay Down valleys where the wheat and rye Their gold with green of forest vie. Lift up your head! Behold how fair Creation is: The ocean-air Beats billowing upon the strand Of endless leagues of summer land, And freighted ships of scented bales, Wild blossoms, spread their tinctured sails. See how God with an artist's grace Gives soul to every flower-face! Beneath His touch a leaf is green, A berry, red! Mark how, between The captive daisies, come and pass Phalanxes of the guarding grass! The night was dark, you say: wild fears Took shape on torrent-flood of tears; Dim phantoms of the host of hate Pursued you down the gulfs of fate, Smiting you with their harpy-wings Up steeps of weird imaginings!