’Through this red sea our God hath made the pathway safe to shore;
Our promised land stands full in sight; shout now as ne’er before! 
And as the tower came crashing down, the bells, in clear accord,
Pealed forth the grand old German hymn,—­’All good souls, praise the
     Lord!’

THE SOWER

I saw a Sower walking slow
  Across the earth, from east to west;
His hair was white as mountain snow,
  His head drooped forward on his breast.

With shrivelled hands he flung his seed,
  Nor ever turned to look behind;
Of sight or sound he took no heed;
  It seemed, he was both deaf and blind.

His dim face showed no soul beneath,
  Yet in my heart I felt a stir,
As if I looked upon the sheath,
  That once had held Excalibur.

I heard, as still the seed he cast,
  How, crooning to himself, he sung. 
’I sow again the holy Past,
  The happy days when I was young.

’Then all was wheat without a tare,
  Then all was righteous, fair, and true;
And I am he whose thoughtful care
  Shall plant the Old World in the New.

’The fruitful germs I scatter free,
  With busy hand, while all men sleep;
In Europe now, from sea to sea,
  The nations bless me as they reap.’

Then I looked back along his path. 
  And heard the clash of steel on steel,
Where man faced man, in deadly wrath,
  While clanged the tocsin’s hurrying peal.

The sky with burning towns flared red,
  Nearer the noise of fighting rolled. 
And brothers’ blood, by brothers shed,
  Crept curdling over pavements cold.

Then marked I how each germ of truth
  Which through the dotard’s fingers ran
Was mated with a dragon’s tooth
  Whence there sprang up an armed man.

I shouted, but he could not hear;
  Made signs, but these he could not see;
And still, without a doubt or fear,
  Broadcast he scattered anarchy.

Long to my straining ears the blast
  Brought faintly back the words he sung: 
’I sow again the holy Past,
  The happy days when I was young.’

HUNGER AND COLD

Sisters two, all praise to you,
With your faces pinched and blue;
To the poor man you’ve been true
    From of old: 
You can speak the keenest word,
You are sure of being heard,
From the point you’re never stirred,
    Hunger and Cold!

Let sleek statesmen temporize;
Palsied are their shifts and lies
When they meet your bloodshot eyes,
    Grim and bold;
Policy you set at naught,
In their traps you’ll not be caught,
You’re too honest to be bought,
    Hunger and Cold!

Bolt and bar the palace door;
While the mass of men are poor,
Naked truth grows more and more
    Uncontrolled;
You had never yet, I guess,
Any praise for bashfulness,
You can visit sans court-dress,
    Hunger and Cold!