Nazarene,
     The martyrs, the poets, the corn and the vines. 
     By my faith in the head, she has wonders in loom;
     Revelations, delights.  I can hear a faint crow
     Of the cock of fresh mornings, far, far, yet distinct;
     As down the new shafting of mines,
     A cry of the metally gnome. 
     When our Earth we have seen, and have linked
     With the home of the Spirit to whom we unfold,
     Imprisoned humanity open will throw
     Its fortress gates, and the rivers of gold
     For the congregate friendliness flow. 
     Then the meaning of Earth in her children behold: 
     Glad eyes, frank hands, and a fellowship real: 
     And laughter on lips, as the birds’ outburst
     At the flooding of light.  No robbery then
     The feast, nor a robber’s abode the home,
     For a furnished model of our first den! 
     Nor Life as a stationed wheel;
     Nor History written in blood or in foam,
     For vendetta of Parties in cursing accursed. 
     The God in the conscience of multitudes feel,
     And we feel deep to Earth at her heart,
     We have her communion with men,
     New ground, new skies for appeal. 
     Yield into harness thy best and thy worst;
     Away on the trot of thy servitude start,
     Through the rigours and joys and sustainments of air. 
     If courage should falter, ’tis wholesome to kneel. 
     Remember that well, for the secret with some,
     Who pray for no gift, but have cleansing in prayer,
     And free from impurities tower-like stand. 
     I promise not more, save that feasting will come
     To a mind and a body no longer inversed: 
     The sense of large charity over the land,
     Earth’s wheaten of wisdom dispensed in the rough,
     And a bell ringing thanks for a sustenance meal
     Through the active machine:  lean fare,
     But it carries a sparkle!  And now enough,
     And part we as comrades part,
     To meet again never or some day or soon.

     Our season of drought is reminder rude:-
     No later than yesternoon,
     I looked on the horse of a cart,
     By the wayside water-trough. 
     How at every draught of his bride of thirst
     His nostrils widened!  The sight was good: 
     Food for us, food, such as first
     Drew our thoughts to earth’s lowly for food.

     To the comic spirit

     Sword of Common Sense! —
     Our surest gift:  the sacred chain
     Of man to man:  firm earth for trust
     In structures vowed to permanence:-
     Thou guardian issue of the harvest brain! 
     Implacable perforce of just;
     With that good treasure in defence,
     Which is our gold crushed out of joy and pain
     Since first men planted foot and hand was king: 
     Bright, nimble of the marrow-nerve
     To wield thy double