So both thou and he Shall less lonely be.

And of thy one loneliness Shall come two's great happiness.

COMFORT YE!

"_Comfort ye, my people!_"

Saith your G.o.d,-- "_And be ye comforted!

And--be--ye--comforted!_"

Roughly my plough did plough you, Sharp were my strokes, and sore, But nothing less could bow you, Nothing less could your souls restore To the depths and the heights of my longing, To the strength you had known before.

For--you were falling, falling, Even the best of you, Falling from your high calling; And this, My test of you, Has been for your souls' redemption From the little things of earth, What seemed to you death's agony Was but a greater birth.

And now you shall have gladness For the years you have seen ill; Give up to Me your sadness, And I your cup will fill.

S. ELIZABETH'S LEPER

"My lord, there came unto the gate One, in such pitiful estate, So all forlorn and desolate, Ill-fed, ill-clad, of ills compact; A leper too,--his poor flesh wracked And dead, his very bones infect; Of all G.o.d's sons none so abject.

I could not, on the Lord's own day, Turn such a stricken one away.

In pity him I took, and fed, And happed him in our royal bed."

"A leper!--in our bed!--Nay then, My Queen, thy charities do pa.s.s The bounds of sense at times! A bane On such unwholesome tenderness!

Dost nothing owe to him who shares Thy couch, and suffers by thy cares?

He could have slept upon the floor, And left you still his creditor.

A leper!--in my bed!--G.o.d's truth!

Out upon such outrageous ruth!"

He strode in anger towards the bed, And lo!-- The Christ, with thorn-crowned head, Lay there in sweet sleep pillowed.

VOX CLAMANTIS

(THE PLEA OF THE MUNITION-WORKER)

"_Rattle and clatter and clank and whirr,"-- And it's long and long the day is_.

From earliest morn to late at night, And all night long, the selfsame song,--- "_Rattle and clank and whirr._"

Day in, day out, all day, all night,-- "_Rattle and clank and whirr;_"

With faces tight, with all our might,-- "Rattle and clank and whirr;"

We may not stop and we dare not err; Our men are risking their lives out there, And we at home must do our share;-- _But it's long and long the day is_.

We'll break if we must, but we cannot spare A thought for ourselves, or the kids, or care, For it's "_Rattle and clatter and clank and whirr;_"

Our men are giving their lives out there And we'll give ours, we will do our share,-- "_Rattle and clank and whirr_."

Are our faces grave, and our eyes intent?

Is every ounce that is in us bent On the uttermost pitch of accomplishment?

_Though it's long and long the day is_!

Ah--we know what it means if we fool or slack; --A rifle jammed,--and one comes not back; And we never forget,--it's for us they gave; And so we will slave, and slave, and slave, Lest the men at the front should rue it.

Their all they gave, and their lives we'll save, If the hardest of work can do it;-- _But it's long and long the day is_.

Eight hours', ten hours', twelve hours' shift;-- _Oh, it's long and long the day is_!

Up before light, and home in the night, That is our share in the desperate fight;-- _And it's long and long the day is_!

Backs and arms and heads that ache, Eyes over-tired and legs that shake, And hearts full nigh to burst and break;-- _Oh, it's long and long the day is_!

Week in, week out, not a second to spare, But though it should kill us we'll do our share, For the sake of the lads, who have gone out there For the sake of us others, to do and dare;-- _But it's long and long the day is_!

"_Rattle and clatter and clank and whirr,_"

And thousands of wheels a-spinning,-- Spinning Death for the men of wrath, Spinning Death for the broken troth, --And Life, and a New Beginning.

Was there ever, since ever the world was made, Such a horrible trade for a peace-loving maid, And such wonderful, terrible spinning?

Oh, it's dreary work and it's weary work, But none of us all will fall or shirk.

FLORA'S BIT

Flora, with wondrous feathers in her hat, Rain-soaked, and limp, and feeling very flat, With flowers of sorts in her full basket, sat, Back to the railings, there by Charing Cross, And cursed the weather and a blank day's loss.

"Wevver!" she cried, to P. C. E. 09,-- "Wevver, you calls it?--Your sort then, not mine!

I calls it blanky 'NO.' So there you are,-- Bit of Old Nick's worstest particular.

Wevver indeed! Not much, my little son, It's just old London's nastiest kind of fun.

"_Vi'lets, narcissus, primroses and daffs,-- See how they sits up in their beds an' laughs!

Buy, Pretty Ladies--for your next at 'ome!

Gents!--for the gells now--buy a pretty bloom!_

"Gosh!--but them 'buses is a fair disgrace, Squirting their dirty mud into one's face, Robert, my son, you a'n't half worth your salt, Or you'd arrest 'em for a blank a.s.sault!

"_Primroses, narcissus, daffs and violets,-- First come is first served, and pick o' basket gets._

"Garn then and git! Ain't none o' you no good!

Cawn't spare a copper to'rds a pore gell's food.

Gives one the 'ump it does, to see you all go by, An' me a-sittin' 'ere all day, An' none o' you won't buy.

_Vi'lets, narcissus_,-- ... Blimy! Strike me dumb!

Garn! What's the good o' you?--lot o' dirty sc.u.m!

Silly blokes!--stony brokes!--I'm a-goin' 'ome!"

And then, from out the "Corner-House,"

Came two, and two, and two, Three pretty maids, three little Subs, Doing as young Subs do, When four days' leave gives them the chance Of a little bill and coo.

"What ho!" they cried, as they espied Flora's bright flower-pot.

"Hi!--you there with the last year's hat!-- Let's see what you have got!

And if they're half as nice as you, We'll buy the blooming lot."