Songs from Books Part 5

To learn and discern of his brother the clod, Of his brother the brute, and his brother the G.o.d, He has gone from the council and put on the shroud ('Can ye hear?' saith Kabir), a _bairagi_ avowed!

A CAROL

Our Lord Who did the Ox command To kneel to Judah's King, He binds His frost upon the land To ripen it for Spring-- To ripen it for Spring, good sirs, According to His Word; Which well must be as ye can see-- And who shall judge the Lord?

When we poor fenmen skate the ice Or shiver on the wold, We hear the cry of a single tree That breaks her heart in the cold-- That breaks her heart in the cold, good sirs, And rendeth by the board; Which well must be as ye can see-- And who shall judge the Lord?

Her wood is crazed and little worth Excepting as to burn, That we may warm and make our mirth Until the Spring return-- Until the Spring return, good sirs.

When people walk abroad; Which well must be as ye can see-- And who shall judge the Lord?

G.o.d bless the master of this house.

And all who sleep therein!

And guard the fens from pirate folk.

And keep us all from sin, To walk in honesty, good sirs, Of thought and deed and word!

Which shall befriend our latter end-- And who shall judge the Lord?

'MY NEW-CUT ASHLAR'

My new-cut ashlar takes the light Where crimson-blank the windows flare.

By my own work before the night, Great Overseer, I make my prayer.

If there be good in that I wrought, Thy Hand compelled it, Master, Thine-- Where I have failed to meet Thy Thought I know, through Thee, the blame was mine.

One instant's toil to Thee denied Stands all Eternity's offence.

Of that I did with Thee to guide To Thee, through Thee, be excellence.

The depth and dream of my desire, The bitter paths wherein I stray-- Thou knowest Who hath made the Fire, Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay.

Who, lest all thought of Eden fade, Bring'st Eden to the craftsman's brain-- G.o.dlike to muse o'er his own Trade And manlike stand with G.o.d again!

One stone the more swings into place In that dread Temple of Thy worth.

It is enough that, through Thy Grace, I saw nought common on Thy Earth.

Take not that vision from my ken-- Oh whatsoe'er may spoil or speed.

Help me to need no aid from men That I may help such men as need!

EDDI'S SERVICE

(A.D. 687)

Eddi, priest of St. Wilfrid In the chapel at Manhood End, Ordered a midnight service For such as cared to attend.

But the Saxons were keeping Christmas, And the night was stormy as well.

n.o.body came to service Though Eddi rang the bell.

'Wicked weather for walking,'

Said Eddi of Manhood End.

'But I must go on with the service For such as care to attend.'

The altar-candles were lighted,-- An old marsh donkey came, Bold as a guest invited, And stared at the guttering flame.

The storm beat on at the windows, The water splashed on the floor, And a wet, yoke-weary bullock Pushed in through the open door.

'How do I know what is greatest, How do I know what is least?

That is My Father's business,'

Said Eddi, Wilfrid's priest.

'But--three are gathered together-- Listen to me and attend.

I bring good news, my brethren!'

Said Eddi of Manhood End.

And he told the Ox of a Manger And a Stall in Bethlehem, And he spoke to the a.s.s of a Rider, That rode to Jerusalem.

They steamed and dripped in the chancel, They listened and never stirred, While, just as though they were Bishops, Eddi preached them The Word.

Till the gale blew off on the marshes And the windows showed the day, And the Ox and the a.s.s together Wheeled and clattered away.

And when the Saxons mocked him, Said Eddi of Manhood End, 'I dare not shut His chapel On such as care to attend.'

SHIV AND THE GRa.s.sHOPPER

Shiv, who poured the harvest and made the winds to blow, Sitting at the doorways of a day of long ago, Gave to each his portion, food and toil and fate, From the King upon the _guddee_ to the Beggar at the gate.

_All things made he--Shiva the Preserver.

Mahadeo! Mahadeo! He made all,-- Thorn for the camel, fodder for the kine, And mother's heart for sleepy head, O little son of mine!_

Wheat he gave to rich folk, millet to the poor, Broken sc.r.a.ps for holy men that beg from door to door; Cattle to the tiger, carrion to the kite, And rags and bones to wicked wolves without the wall at night.

Naught he found too lofty, none he saw too low-- Parbati beside him watched them come and go; Thought to cheat her husband, turning Shiv to jest-- Stole the little gra.s.shopper and hid it in her breast.

_So she tricked him, Shiva the Preserver.

Mahadeo! Mahadeo! turn and see!

Tall are the camels, heavy are the kine, But this was Least of Little Things, O little son of mine!_

When the dole was ended, laughingly she said, 'Master, of a million mouths is not one unfed?'