Easy to answer—­lo! the unfathomed time
    Gone ere each small perfection came to flower,
  Ere soul shone dimly in the wastes of slime;
    Wouldst thou turn Hell to Heaven in an hour? 
  Easy to say—­God’s purposes are long,
    His ways and wonders far beyond our knowing,
  He hath mysterious ministers even in wrong,
    Sure is His harvest, though so long His sowing: 
  So say old poets with persuasive tongue.

  And yet—­and yet—­it seems some swifter doom
    From so august a hand might surely fall,
  And all earth’s rubbish in one flash consume,
    And make an end of evil once for all . . . 
  But vain the questions and the answers vain,
    Who knows but Man’s impatience is God’s doing? 
  Who knows if evil be so swiftly slain? 
    Be sure none shall escape, with God pursuing. 
  Question no more—­but to your work again!

  BALLADE TO A DEPARTING GOD

  God of the Wine List, roseate lord,
  And is it really then good-by? 
  Of Prohibitionists abhorred,
  Must thou in sorry sooth then die,
  (O fatal morning of July!)
  Nor aught hold back the threatened hour
  That shrinks thy purple clusters dry? 
  Say not good-by—­but au revoir!

  For the last time the wine is poured,
  For the last toast the glass raised high,
  And henceforth round the wintry board,
  As dumb as fish, we’ll sit and sigh,
  And eat our Puritanic pie,
  And dream of suppers gone before,
  With flying wit and words that fly—­
  Say not good-by—­but au revoir!

  ’Twas on thy wings the poet soared,
  And Sorrow fled when thou wentst by,
  And, when we said “Here’s looking toward” . . . 
  It seemed a better world, say I,
  With greener grass and bluer sky . . . 
  The writ is on the Tavern Door,
  And who would tipple on the sly? . . . 
  ’Tis not good-by—­but au revoir!

  ENVOI

  Gay God of Bottles, I deny
  Those brave tempestuous times are o’er;
  Somehow I think, I scarce know why,
  ’Tis not good-by—­but au revoir!

  BALLADE OF THE ABSENT GUEST

  Friends whom to-night once more I greet,
    Most glad am I with you to be,
  And, as I look around, I meet
    Many a face right good to see;
    But one I miss—­ah! where is he?—­
  Of merry eye and sparkling jest,
    Who used to brim my glass for me;
  I drink—­in what?—­the Absent Guest.

  Low lies he in his winding-sheet,
    By organized hypocrisy
  Hurled from his happy wine-clad seat,
    Stilled his kind heart and hushed his glee;
    His very name daren’t mention we,
  That good old friend who brought such zest,
    And set our tongues and spirits free: 
  I drink—­in what?—­the Absent Guest.