Be pitiful, O God!
The plague runs festering through the town,
And never a bell is tolling:
And corpses jostled 'neath the moon,
Nod to the dead-cart's rolling.
The young child calleth for the cup--
The strong man brings it weeping;
The mother from her babe looks up,
And shrieks away its sleeping.
Be pitiful, O God!
The plague of gold strides far and near,
And deep and strong it enters:
This purple chimar which we wear,
Makes madder than the centaur's.
Our thoughts grow blank, our words grow strange;
We cheer the pale gold-diggers--
Each soul is worth so much on 'Change,
And marked, like sheep, with figures.
Be pitiful, O God!
The curse of gold upon the land,
The lack of bread enforces--
The rail-cars snort from strand to strand,
Like more of Death's White Horses:
The rich preach "rights" and future days,
And hear no angel scoffing:
The poor die mute--with starving gaze
On corn-ships in the offing.
Be pitiful, O God!
We meet together at the feast--
To private mirth betake us--
We stare down in the winecup lest
Some vacant chair should shake us!
We name delight, and pledge it round--
"It shall be ours to-morrow!"
God's seraphs, do your voices sound
As sad in naming sorrow?
Be pitiful, O God!
We sit together, with the skies,
The steadfast skies, above us:
We look into each other's eyes,
"And how long will you love us?"
The eyes grow dim with prophecy,
The voice is low and breathless--
"Till death us part!"--O words, to be
Our _best_ for love the deathless!
Be pitiful, dear God!
We tremble by the harmless bed
Of one loved and departed--
Our tears drop on the lids that said
Last night, "Be stronger hearted!"
O God,--to clasp those fingers close,
And yet to feel so lonely!--
To see a light upon such brows,
Which is the daylight only!
Be pitiful, O God!
The happy children come to us,
And look up in our faces:
They ask us--Was it thus, and thus,
When we were in their places?
We cannot speak:--we see anew
The hills we used to live in;
And feel our mother's smile press through
The kisses she is giving.
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