_And who are these Kings of the earth?_ Only men--not always even men of worth, But claiming rule by right of birth.

_And Wisdom?--does that come by birth?_ Nay then--too often the reverse.

Wise father oft has son perverse; Solomon's son was Israel's curse.

_Why suffer things to reason so averse?_ It always has been so, And only now does knowledge grow To that high point where all men know-- Who would be free must strike the blow.

_And how long will man suffer so?_ Until his soul of Freedom sings, And, strengthened by his sufferings, He breaks the worn-out leading-strings, And calls to stricter reckonings Those costliest things--unworthy Kings.

Not all are worthless. Some, with sense of duty, Strive to invest their lives with grace and beauty.

To such--high honour! But the rest--self-seekers, Pride-puffed--out with them!--useless mischief-makers!

The time is past when any man or nation Will meekly bear unrighteous domination.

The time is come when every burden-bearer Must, in the fixing of his load, be sharer.

IS LIFE WORTH LIVING?

Is life worth living?

It depends on your believing;-- If it ends with this short span, Then is man no better than The beasts that perish.

But a Loftier Hope we cherish.

"Life out of Death" is written wide Across Life's page on every side.

We cannot think as ended, our dear dead who died.

What room is left us then for doubt or fear?

Love laughs at thought of ending--there, or here.

G.o.d would lack meaning if this world were all, And this short life but one long funeral.

G.o.d is! Christ loves! Christ lives!

And by His Own Returning gives Sure pledge of Immortality.

The first-fruits--He; and we-- The harvest of His victory.

The life beyond shall this life far transcend, And Death is the Beginning--not the End!

G.o.d'S HANDWRITING

He writes in characters too grand For our short sight to understand; We catch but broken strokes, and try To fathom all the mystery Of withered hopes, of death, of life, The endless war, the useless strife,-- But there, with larger, clearer sight, We shall see this--

HIS WAY WAS RIGHT

(From _Bees in Amber_.)

PART TWO: THE KING'S HIGH WAY

THE KING'S HIGH WAY

A wonderful Way is The King's High Way; It runs through the Nightlands up to the Day; From the wonderful WAS, by the wonderful IS, To the still more wonderful IS TO BE,-- Runs The King's High Way.

Through the crooked by-ways of history, Through the times that were dark with mystery, From the cities of man's captivity, By the shed of The Child's nativity, And over the hill by the crosses three, By the sign-post of G.o.d's paternity, From Yesterday into Eternity,-- Runs The King's High Way.

And wayfaring men, who have strayed, still say It is good to travel The King's High Way.

Through the dim, dark Valley of Death, at times, To the peak of the Shining Mount it climbs, While wonders, and glories, and joys untold To the eyes of the visioned each step unfold,-- On The King's High Way.

And everywhere there are sheltering bowers, Plenished with fruits and radiant with flowers, Where the weary of body and soul may rest, As the steeps they breast to the beckoning crest,-- On The King's High Way.

And inns there are too, of comforting mien, Where every guest is a King or a Queen, And room never lacks in the inns on that road, For the hosts are all gentle men, like unto G.o.d,-- On The King's High Way.

The comrades one finds are all bound the same way, Their faces aglow in the light of the day; And never a quarrel is heard, nor a brawl, They're the best of good company, each one and all,-- On The King's High Way.

So, gallantly travel The King's High Way, With hearts unperturbed and with souls high and gay, There is many a road that is much more the mode, But none that so surely leads straight up to G.o.d, As The King's High Way.

THE WAYS

To every man there openeth A Way, and Ways, and a Way, And the High Soul climbs the High Way, And the Low Soul gropes the Low, And in between, on the misty flats, The rest drift to and fro.

But to every man there openeth A High Way, and a Low.

And every man decideth The Way his soul shall go.

AD FINEM

Britain! Our Britain! uprisen in the splendour Of your white wrath at treacheries so vile; Roused from your sleep, become once more defender Of those high things which make life worth life's while!

Now, G.o.d be thanked for even such a wakening From the soft dreams of peace in selfish ease, If it but bring about the great heart-quickening, Of which are born the larger liberties.

Ay, better such a rousing up from slumber; Better this fight for His High Empery; Better--e'en though our fair sons without number Pave with their lives the road to victory.

But--Britain! Britain! What if it be written, On the great scrolls of Him who holds the ways, That to the dust the foe shall not be smitten Till unto Him we pledge redeemed days?--

Till unto Him we turn--in deep soul-sorrow, For all the past that was so stained and dim, For all the present ills--and for a morrow Founded and built and consecrated to Him.

Take it to heart! This ordeal has its meaning; By no fell chance has such a horror come.

Take it to heart!--nor count indeed on winning, Until the lesson has come surely home.

Take it to heart!--nor hope to find a.s.suagement Of this vast woe, until, with souls subdued, Stripped of all less things, in most high engagement, We seek in Him the One and Only Good.

Not of our own might shall this tribulation Pa.s.s, and once more to earth be peace restored; Not till we turn, in solemn consecration, Wholly to Him, our One and Sovereign Lord.