There they stand, the blackening stacks, Stacks all charred with browns and blacks Like a nest of black-scaled snakes, From whose jaws which nothing slakes Jaggèd tongues of hungry flame Leap through darkness none dare name; Burning night, devouring dark, Hissing, reeling, spewing spark, Breathing smokes that writhe and twist, Taunting all that dares exist. Yet this nest of fiendish flame— Brood all-worthy Satan's name— Rises up from God's own mills, His as much as all the hills, Where they stand, the flowering rods, Rods of sunshine, held at bay While the autumn wears away. SNUFFED OUT One day a Toiler walking home among a crowd of men At sunset viewed a wondrous sight, and called the Other Ten: “An artist has been here to-day since we went in the mill; He's made the housetops all aflame, and every window sill Is shining round the burning glass that glows with brands of fire; His brush has left a crimson sky and colored every spire; The grass is painted brighter green, and every dusty leaf That silent hangs upon the tree is sketched in bold relief.” “Just hear poor Dan; he's raving mad,” called out the Other Ten. “We'll see him home, he's gone, all right, he'll not be back again.” And then they laughed full hideously, and mocking, jeered at him, Till pale he grew, and scarlet turned, then, as before, was grim: The Other Ten, whose dusty coats encased ten dusty souls, Had snuffed the kindling flame of light with jeers and coarse cajoles. O busy men of mart and mill, O men of shop and street, May never you their sin commit when you some brother meet Who, having seen a spark from God, tells forth the wondrous sight, But finds the soul snatched from his words, and from his spark, the light. AN INTERRUPTED WORKER'S REVELATION O God, I thank Thee for the drenching rain That beats against my office windowpane And breaks my self-content. The lightning's virile slash and crackling spark, That glorify the clouds though earth be dark, Remind me there is something still Which can't be ordered by my master will. O lightnings uncontrollable And waters uncommandable, I thank thee that thou badst me leave my task And taught me how to tear away my mask, To see that God, the Master, still presides And keeps some secrets yet, whose home He hides. RAIN AT THE MILL