Part 9 (1/2)

STRIKERS

In the mud and sc.u.m of things, Underneath the whole world's blot, Something, they tell us, always sings-- _Why do we hear it not?_

In the heart of things unclean, Somewhere, in the furious fight, The face of G.o.d is plainly seen-- _What has destroyed our sight?_

Yet have we heard enough to feel, Yet have we seen enough to know Who bound us to the awful wheel, Whose hands have brought us low.

And we shall cry out till the wind Roars in their ears the thing to come-- _Yea, though they made us deaf and blind, Nothing shall keep us dumb!_

IN THE SUBWAY

Chaos is tamed and ordered as we ride; The rock is rent, the darkness flung aside And all the horrors of the deep defied.

A coil of wires, a throb, a sudden spark-- And on a screaming meteor we embark That hurls us past the cold and breathless dark.

The centuries disclose their secret graves-- Riding in splendor through a world of waves The ancient elements become our slaves.

Uncanny fancies whisper to and fro; Terror and Night surround us here below, And through the house of Death we come and go...

And here, oh wildest glimpse of all, I see The score of men and women facing me Reading their papers calmly, leisurely.

BATTLE-CRIES

Yes, Jim hez gone--ye didn't know?

He's fightin' at the front.

It's him as bears 'his country's hopes'.

An' me as bears the brunt.

Wen war bruk out Jim 'lowed he'd go-- He allus loved a sc.r.a.p-- Ye see, the home warn't jest the place Fer sech a lively chap.

O' course, the work seems ruther hard; The kids is ruther small-- It ain't that I am sore at Jim, I envy him--that's all.

He doesn't know what he's about An' cares still less, does Jim...

With all his loose an' roarin' ways I wisht that I was him.

It makes him glad an' drunken-like That music an' the smoke; An' w'en they shout, the whole thing seems A picnic an' a joke.

Oh, yellin' puts a heart in ye, An' stren'th into yer blows-- I wisht that I could hears those cheers Was.h.i.+n' the neighbors clo'es...

It's funny how some things work out-- Life is so strange, Lord love us-- Here am I, workin' night an' day To keep a roof above us;

An' Jim is somewhere in the south, An' Jim ain't really bad, A-runnin' round an' raisin' Cain, An' stabbin' some kid's dad.

But that's w'at men are made for--eh?