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TO THE CHRISTIANS

FRANCIS ADAMS (English Poet and Rebel)

Take, then, your paltry Christ,
Your gentleman God.
We want the carpenter's son,
With his saw and hod.

We want the man who loved

The poor and the oppressed,

Who hated the Rich man and the King
And the Scribe and the Priest.

We want the Galilean

Who knew the cross and rod.
It's your "good taste" that prefers
A bastard "God."

THE KINGS OF THE EAST

KATHERINE LEE BATES

I

The Kings of the East are riding
To-night to Bethlehem.

The sunset glows dividing,

The Kings of the East are riding;
A star their journey guiding,

Gleaming with gold and gem
The Kings of the East are riding
To-night to Bethlehem.

II

To a strange sweet harp of Zion
The starry host troops forth;
The golden glaived Orion

To a strange sweet harp of Zion;
The Archer and the Lion,

The watcher of the North;
To a strange sweet harp of Zion
The starry host sweeps forth.

III

There beams above the manger
The child-face of a star;
Amid the stars a stranger,
It beams above a manger;
What means this ether-ranger

To pause where poor folk are?
There beams above a manger
The child-face of a star.

CRUCIFIXION

EVA GORE BOOTH

In the crowd's multitudinous mind
Terror and passion embrace,
Whilst the darkness heavily blind

Hides face from horror-struck face;

And all men, huddled and dumb,

Shrink from the death-strangled cry,

And the hidden terror to come,

And the dead men hurrying by.

White gleams from the limbs of the dead
Raised high o'er the blood-stained sod,
And the soldier shuddered and said,
'Lo, this was the Son of God.'

Nay, but all Life is one,

A wind that wails through the vast,

And this deed is never done,

This passion is never past.

When any son of man by man's blind doom
On any justest scaffold strangled dies,
Once more across the shadow-stricken gloom
Against the sun the dark-winged Horror flies,
A lost voice cries from the far olive trees

Weary and harsh with pain, a desolate cry,
What ye have done unto the least of these

Is done to God in Heaven, for earth and sky, And bird and beast, green leaves and golden sun, Men's dreams, the starry dust, the bread, the wine, Rivers and seas, my soul and his, are one

Through all things flows one life austere, divine, Strangling the murderer you are slaying me,

Scattering the stars and leaves like broken bread, Casting dark shadows on the sun-lit sea,

Striking the swallows and the sea-gulls dead, Making the red rose wither to its fall,

Darkening the sunshine, blasting the green sod,Wounding one soul, you wound the soul of all, The unity of Life, the soul of God.

A VIRILE CHRIST

REX BOUNDY

Give us a virile Christ for these rough days!
You painters, sculptors, show the warrior bold
And you who turn mere words to gleaming gold,
Too long your lips have sounded in the praise
Of patience and humility. Our ways
Have parted from the quietude of old;
We need a man of strength with us to hold

The very breach of Death without amaze.

Did He not scourge from temple courts the thieves?
And make the arch-fiend's self again to fall?
And blast the fig-tree that was only leaves?

And still the raging tumult of the sea?

Did He not bear the greatest pain of all, Silent, upon the cross on Calvary?

THE POET

WITTER BYNNER

A poet lived in Galilee

Whose mother dearly knew him
And his beauty like a cooling tree
Drew many people to him.

He loved the speech of simple men
And little children's laughter;
He came, they always came again,
He went-they followed after.

He had sweet-hearted things to say,
And he was solemn only

When people were unkind that day;
He'd stand there straight and lonely

And tell them what they ought to do; "Love other folk," he pleaded, "As you love me and I love you!" But almost no one heeded.

A poet died in Galilee

They stared at him and slew him . . What would they do to you and me If we should say we knew him?

COMRADE JESUS

SARAH N. CLEGHORN

Thanks to St. Matthew, who had been
At mass-meetings in Palestine,
We knew whose side was spoken for
When Comrade Jesus took the floor.

"Where sore they toil and hard they lie,
Among the great unwashed, dwell I:-
The tramp, the convict, I am he;
Cold-shoulder him, cold-shoulder me."

By Dives' door, with thoughtful eye,
He did tomorrow prophesy :-

"The kingdom's gate is low and small;
The rich can scarce wedge through at all."

"A dangerous man," said Caiaphas,
"An ignorant demagogue, alas!
Friend of low women, it is he
Slanders the upright Pharisee."

For law and order, it was plain,
For Holy Church, he must be slain.
The troops are there to awe the crowd:
And violence was not allowed.

Their clumsy force with force to foil
His strong, clean hands he would not soil.
He saw their childishness quite plain
Between the lightnings of his pain.

Between the twilights of his end,
He made his fellow-felon friend:
With swollen tongue and blinded eyes,
Invited him to paradise.

Ah, let no Local him refuse!

Comrade Jesus hath paid his dues.

Whatever other be debarred,

Comrade Jesus hath his red card.

CHRIST, THE MAN

WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES

Lord, I say nothing: I profess

No faith in Thee nor Christ Thy Son:

Yet no man ever heard me mock

A true believing one.