Yet his King spake kindly (Ah, how kind a Lord!)
‘What if I release thee now and give thee back thy sword?’
‘Nay!’ said the Baron, ’mock not at my fall,
For Iron—­Cold Iron—­is master of men all.’

’Tears are for the craven, prayers are for the clown—­ Halters for the silly neck that cannot keep a crown.’ ’As my loss is grievous, so my hope is small, For Iron—­Cold Iron—­must be master of men all!’

Yet his King made answer (few such Kings there be!)
’Here is Bread and here is Wine—­sit and sup with me. 
Eat and drink in Mary’s Name, the whiles I do recall
How Iron—­Cold Iron—­can be master of men all!’

He took the Wine and blessed It.  He blessed and brake the Bread. 
With His own Hands He served Them, and presently He said: 
’See!  These Hands they pierced with nails, outside My city wall,
Show Iron—­Cold Iron—­to be master of men all!

’Wounds are for the desperate, blows are for the strong,
Balm and oil for weary hearts all cut and bruised with wrong. 
I forgive thy treason—­I redeem thy fall—­
For Iron—­Cold Iron—­must be master of men all!’

’Crowns are for the valiant—­sceptres for the bold! 
Thrones and powers for mighty men who dare to take and hold.’
‘Nay!’ said the Baron, kneeling in his hall,
’But Iron—­Cold Iron—­is master of man all! 
Iron out of Calvary is master of men all!’

A SONG OF KABIR

Oh, light was the world that he weighed in his hands! 
Oh, heavy the tale of his fiefs and his lands! 
He has gone from the guddee and put on the shroud,
And departed in guise of bairagi avowed!

Now the white road to Delhi is mat for his feet. 
The sal and the kikar must guard him from heat. 
His home is the camp, and the waste, and the crowd—­
He is seeking the Way as bairagi avowed!

He has looked upon Man, and his eyeballs are clear—­
(There was One; there is One, and but One, saith Kabir);
The Red Mist of Doing has thinned to a cloud—­
He has taken the Path for bairagi avowed!

To learn and discern of his brother the clod,
Of his brother the brute, and his brother the God,
He has gone from the council and put on the shroud
(’Can ye hear?’ saith Kabir), a bairagi avowed!

A CAROL

Our Lord Who did the Ox command
  To kneel to Judah’s King,
He binds His frost upon the land
  To ripen it for Spring—­
To ripen it for Spring, good sirs,
  According to His Word;
Which well must be as ye can see—­
  And who shall judge the Lord?

When we poor fenmen skate the ice
  Or shiver on the wold,
We hear the cry of a single tree
  That breaks her heart in the cold—­
That breaks her heart in the cold, good sirs,
  And rendeth by the board;
Which well must be as ye can see—­
  And who shall judge the Lord?