Hoo, Hoo, Hoo.

Listen to the yell of Leopold's ghost
Burning in Hell for his hand-maimed host.

[Like the wind in the chimney.]

Hear how the demons chuckle and yell
Cutting his hands off, down in Hell.

Listen to the creepy proclamation,

Blown through the lairs of the forest-nation,

Blown past the white-ants' hill of clay,

Blown past the marsh where the butterflies play :

"Be careful what you do,

Or Mumbo-Jumbo, God of the Congo,
And all of the other

Gods of the Congo,

Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you,
Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you,
Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you."

[All the sounds very golden. Heavy accents very heavy. Light accents very light. Last line whispered.]

General William Booth Enters into Heaven

(To be sung to tune of The Blood of the Lamb
with indicated instruments.)

Booth led boldly with his big bass drum,

Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?

The saints smiled gravely, and they said, "He's

come."

[Bass drum]

Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?
Walking lepers followed, rank on rank,
Lurching bravos from the ditches dank,
Drabs from the alleyways and drug-fiends pale-
Minds still passion ridden, soul-powers frail!
Vermin-eaten saints with mouldy breath
Unwashed legions with the ways of death-
Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?

Every slum had sent its half-a-score

The round world over-Booth had groaned for

more.

Every banner that the wide world flies
Bloomed with glory and transcendent dyes.
Big-voiced lasses made their banjos bang!
Tranced, fanatical, they shrieked and sang,
Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?
Hallelujah! It was queer to see

Bull-necked convicts with that land make free!
Loons with bazoos blowing blare, blare, blare-
On, on, upward through the golden air.

Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?

[Banjos]

Booth died blind, and still by faith he trod,
Eyes still dazzled by the ways of God.
Booth led boldly and he looked the chief:
Eagle countenance in sharp relief,
Beard a-flying, air of high command
Unabated in that holy land.

[Bass drum slower and softer]

Jesus came from out the Court-House door,
Stretched his hands above the passing poor.
Booth saw not, but led his queer ones there
Round and round the mighty Court-House Square.
Yet in an instant all that blear review
Marched on spotless, clad in raiment new.

The lame were straightened, withered limbs un-
curled,

And blind eyes opened on a new sweet world.

Drabs and vixens in a flash made whole!
Gone was the weasel-head, the snout, the jowl;
Sages and sybils now, and athletes clean,
Rulers of empires, and of forests green!

The hosts were sandalled and their wings were
fire-

Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?
But their noise played havoc with the angel-choir.
Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?
Oh, shout Salvation! it was good to see
Kings and princes by the Lamb set free.
The banjos rattled and the tambourines
Jing-jing-jangled in the hands of Queens!

And when Booth halted by the curb for prayer,
He saw his Master through the flag-filled air.

Christ came gently with a robe and crown

Γ

[Bass drums louder and faster]

[Grand chorus tambourines —all instruments in full blast]

For Booth the Soldier while the throng knelt [Reverently

down.

He saw King Jesus-they were face to face,
And he knelt a-weeping in that holy place.
Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?

The Eagle That Is Forgotten

(John P. Altgeld, 1847-1902)

Sung-no instruments]

Sleep softly... eagle forgotten . . . under the stone. Time has its way with you there, and the clay has its own. "We have buried him now," thought your foes, and in secret rejoiced.

They made a brave show of their mourning, their hatred unvoiced.

hey had snarled at you, barked at you, foamed at you, day after day,

ow you were ended. They praised you . . . and laid you

away.

...

he others, that mourned you in silence and terror and truth, he widow bereft of her crust, and the boy without youth, he mocked and the scorned and the wounded, the lame and the poor,

hat should have remembered forever, remember no

more.

Where are those lovers of yours, on what name do they call, he lost, that in armies wept over your funeral pall? hey call on the names of a hundred high-valiant ones,

hundred white eagles have risen, the sons of your sons. 'he zeal in their wings is a zeal that your dreaming began, 'he valor that wore out your soul in the service of man. leep softly. eagle forgotten . . . under the stone. ime has its way with you there, and the clay has its own. leep on, O brave-hearted, O wise man that kindled the flame

To live in mankind is far more than to live in a name,

To live in mankind, far, far more than to live in a name !—

The Flower of Mending

(To Eudora, after I had had certain dire
adventures)

When Dragon-fly would fix his wings,

When Snail would patch his house,

When moths have marred the overcoat

Of tender Mister Mouse,

The pretty creatures go with haste

To the sunlit blue-grass hills

Where the Flower of Mending yields the wax

And webs to help their ills.

The hour the coats are waxed and webbed

They fall into a dream,

And when they wake the ragged robes

Are joined without a seam.

My heart is but a dragon-fly,
My heart is but a mouse,
My heart is but a haughty snail
On a little stony house.

Your hand was honey-comb to heal,
Your voice a web to bind.

You were a Mending Flower to me
To cure my heart and mind.

LOUIS V. LEDOUX (1880-)

From "The Story of Eleusis”

HYMN TO DEMETER

Weave the dance, and raise again the sacred chorus; Wreathe the garlands of the spring about the hair; Now once more the meadows burst in bloom before us, Crying swallows dart and glitter through the air. Glints the plowshare in the brown and fragrant furrow; Pigeons coo in shady coverts as they pair;

Come the furtive mountain folk from cave and burrow, Lean, and blinking at the sunlight's sudden glare.

Bright through midmost heaven moves the lesser Lion;
Hide the Hyades in ocean caverns hoar;

Past the shoulders of the sunset flames Orion,
Following the sisters seaward evermore,
Gleams the east at evening, lit by low Arcturus;
Out to subtle-scented dawns beside the shore,
Yet a little and the Pleiades will lure us:

Weave the dance and raise the chorus as of yore.
Far to eastward up the fabled gulf of Issus,

Northward, southward, westward, now the trader goes, Passing headlands clustered yellow with narcissus, Bright with hyacinth, with poppy, and with rose, Shines the sea and falls the billow as undaunted, Past the rising of the stars that no man knows, Sails he onward through the islands siren-haunted, Till the clashing gates of rock before him close.

Kindly Mother of the beasts and birds and flowers,
Gracious bringer of the barley and the grain,
Earth awakened feels thy sunlight and thy showers;
Great Demeter! Let us call thee not in vain;
Lead us safely from the seed-time to the threshing,
Past the harvest and the vineyard's purple stain;
Let us see thy corn-pale hair the sunlight meshing,
When the sounding flails of autumn swing again.

JOHN G. NEIHARDT (1881-)

April Theology

Oh, to be breathing and hearing and feeling and seeing! Ɔh, the ineffably glorious privilege of being!

All of the World's lovely girlhood, unfleshed and made spirit, Broods out in the sunlight this morning-I see it, I hear it!

So read me no text, O my Brothers, and preach me no creeds;
I am busy beholding the glory of God in His deeds!
See! Everywhere buds coming out, blossoms flaming, bees
humming!

Glad athletic Growers up-reaching, things striving, becoming!

Oh, I know in my heart, in the sun-quickened, blossoming soul of me,

This something called self is a part, but the World is the whole of me!

I am one with these growers, these singers, these earnest becomers

Co-heirs of the summer to be and past æons of summers!

I kneel not nor grovel; no prayer with my lips shall I fashion. Close-knit in the fabric of things, fused with one common passion

To go on and become something greater-we Growers are one;

None more in the World than a bird and none less than the sun;

But all woven into the glad indivisible Scheme,

God fashioning out in the Finite a part of His Dream!

Out here where the world-love is flowing, unfettered, unpriced, I feel all the depth of the man-soul and girl-heart of Christ! 'Mid this rict of pink and white flame in this miracle weather, Soul to soul, merged in one, God and I dream the vast Dream together.

We are one in the doing of things that are done and to be: I am part of my God as a raindrop is part of the Sea!

What! House me my God! Take me in where no blossoms are blowing?

No riot of green and no sky, and no bird-song, no growing? Parcel out what is already mine, like a vender of staples? See! Yonder my God burns revealed in the sap-drunken maples!