My friend! Each in his turn has known Night and her shapes of fear; the stone Of striving Sisyphus has torn All who have dared the mount of Morn: The tree where Buddha's vision fell Was planted in a pit of hell! No soul has seen its promised land, Who felt not first some Pharaoh's hand-- Behind achievement, stir and stress Of desert-days and wilderness; Learn by the way that Jesu trod How from the brute man grows a god! Who stands against you in your path May reap with you your aftermath; And less of bitterness than bliss Is stored within a traitor's kiss: The demon who holds back your soul Will crown you victor at the goal! The bugles blow, the trumpets call, And at their sound the towers fall; Beleaguered bastions are down Within yon ancient fortressed town: Go up and let each cobbled street Clang back to your triumphant feet! A CRADLE SONG OF LIFE Lullaby baby, Hushaby baby! After the day Comes night with a dream! Dear little hands, Dear little feet, Quiet at last; Closed are the eyes: Lullaby, hushaby baby! When you awake Will you forget All the old toys, The lessons you learned, The bruises that hurt When you fell down? Uncouthly you sprawled And frequently fell, Learning to walk: Was falling a sin, Were bruises a shame, Baby, my brave little baby? What dreams do you dream, What sounds do you hear Out of the splendour-- Out of the wonder-- Out of the peace Of Rest-A-While Land? How little they know Who call this a grave-- 'Tis but a cradle, And death is a sleep From which you will waken To try it again! How little they know Who prattle of sin, And tell on their beads Misereres for grace: Baby must fall That baby may rise! Renewed by the rest, Made strong by the dream, More firmly your feet Shall find out a way Past the old blunders Into the dawn! Lullaby baby, Hushaby baby! After the day Comes night with a kiss Soft on the brow, Hands and the feet-- Folding them, Holding them-- Feet that are tired from falling; Hands that are weary from failing; Brow that is furrowed from weeping: Brow, hands, feet--resting for mastery! A SONG OF THE ALL Brother, my Brother! whoever you are, Rocked in the atom and nursed in the star, Swaddled in flesh by the great Elohim-- Lords of the Flame--and whose day is a dream Known in the night: O my Brother, all hail! Hither a prophet, a priest or a slave, Came you, my Brother--a king or a knave, Black man or red man or brown man or white, Out of the land of an infinite light? Here are my heart and my hand to you: hail! Are you a liar, a sycophant's self Sold for a shekel and pandering pelf? Are you a snob or a murderer, thief, Cringing to hell with the devil for chief? Here are my robe and my crown to you: hail!