Now he hath left his quarters, In Bunhill Fields to lie. The wisdom that he taught us Is proven prophecy-- One watchword through our armies, One answer from our lands-- 'No dealings with Diabolus As long as Mansoul stands. _A pedlar from a hovel, The lowest of the low, The father of the Novel, Salvation's first Defoe, Eight blinded generations Ere Armageddon came, He showed us how to meet it, And Bunyan was his name!_ THE HOUSES (A SONG OF THE DOMINIONS) 1898 'Twixt my house and thy house the pathway is broad, In thy house or my house is half the world's hoard; By my house and thy house hangs all the world's fate, On thy house and my house lies half the world's hate. For my house and thy house no help shall we find Save thy house and my house--kin cleaving to kind: If my house be taken, thine tumbleth anon, If thy house be forfeit, mine followeth soon. 'Twixt my house and thy house what talk can there be Of headship or lordship, or service or fee? Since my house to thy house no greater can send Than thy house to my house--friend comforting friend; And thy house to my house no meaner can bring Than my house to thy house--King counselling King. RUSSIA TO THE PACIFISTS God rest you, peaceful gentlemen, let nothing you dismay, But--leave your sports a little while--the dead are borne this way! Armies dead and Cities dead, past all count or care. God rest you, merry gentlemen, what portent see you there? Singing.--Break ground for a wearied host That have no ground to keep. Give them the rest that they covet most, And who shall next to sleep, good sirs, In such a trench to sleep? God rest you, peaceful gentlemen, but give us leave to pass. We go to dig a nation's grave as great as England was. For this Kingdom and this Glory and this Power and this Pride Three hundred years it flourished--in three hundred days it died. Singing--Pour oil for a frozen throng, That lie about the ways. Give them the warmth they have lacked so long And what shall be next to blaze, good sirs, On such a pyre to blaze? God rest you, thoughtful gentlemen, and send your sleep is light! Remains of this dominion no shadow, sound, or sight, Except the sound of weeping and the sight of burning fire, And the shadow of a people that is trampled into mire. Singing.--Break bread for a starving folk That perish in the field. Give them their food as they take the yoke ... And who shall be next to yield, good sirs, For such a bribe to yield?