I hear! 
    Forgive me, God! 
    Above the thunder I hearkened;
    Beneath the silence, now,—­
    I hear!

    (Wait, God, a little space. 
    It is so strange to talk with Thee—­
    Alone!)

    This gold? 
    I took it. 
    Is it Thine? 
    Forgive; I did not know.

    Blood?  Is it wet with blood? 
    ’Tis from my brother’s hands. 
    (I know; his hands are mine.)
    It flowed for Thee, O Lord.

    War?  Not so; not war—­
    Dominion, Lord, and over black, not white;
    Black, brown, and fawn,
    And not Thy Chosen Brood, O God,
    We murdered. 
    To build Thy Kingdom,
    To drape our wives and little ones,
    And set their souls a-glitter—­
    For this we killed these lesser breeds
    And civilized their dead,
    Raping red rubber, diamonds, cocoa, gold!

    For this, too, once, and in Thy Name,
    I lynched a Nigger—­

      (He raved and writhed,
       I heard him cry,
       I felt the life-light leap and lie,
       I saw him crackle there, on high,
       I watched him wither!)

    Thou?
    Thee?
    I lynched Thee?

    Awake me, God!  I sleep! 
    What was that awful word Thou saidst? 
    That black and riven thing—­was it Thee? 
    That gasp—­was it Thine? 
    This pain—­is it Thine? 
    Are, then, these bullets piercing Thee? 
    Have all the wars of all the world,
    Down all dim time, drawn blood from Thee? 
    Have all the lies and thefts and hates—­
    Is this Thy Crucifixion, God,
    And not that funny, little cross,
    With vinegar and thorns? 
    Is this Thy kingdom here, not there,
    This stone and stucco drift of dreams?

    Help! 
    I sense that low and awful cry—­

    Who cries? 
    Who weeps? 
    With silent sob that rends and tears—­
    Can God sob?

    Who prays? 
    I hear strong prayers throng by,
    Like mighty winds on dusky moors—­
    Can God pray?

Prayest Thou, Lord, and to me? Thou needest me?  Thou needest me?  Thou needest me?  Poor, wounded soul!  Of this I never dreamed.  I thought—­

    Courage, God,
    I come!

X

THE COMET

He stood a moment on the steps of the bank, watching the human river that swirled down Broadway.  Few noticed him.  Few ever noticed him save in a way that stung.  He was outside the world—­“nothing!” as he said bitterly.  Bits of the words of the walkers came to him.

“The comet?”

“The comet——­”

Everybody was talking of it.  Even the president, as he entered, smiled patronizingly at him, and asked: