THE SINGER

Amidst all grief shalt thou be void of woe, And nevermore thy chanting shalt thou cease, For thee I have ordained, that thou go Most mightily, and heal with all my peace, That the fair sum of me may well increase; And when my children weep the bitter frost Clad foolishly in rags, in lieu of fleece, Sing to them that they be not wholly lost. I make to me my ministers, and they Charitably do walk in many a guise, By many a leafy path and paved way, With brooding peace enthroned in their eyes; How the vast earth is clamorous with cries Of all her creatures miserably tossed! But these that I have signalled to arise Sing to them that they be not wholly lost. It is not seemly the elect should weep, They have no heritage in agony. Calmly thine heart in thy still bosom keep And let importunate sorrow pass thee by; More than thy brethren have, the very sky Is thine, with many stars and clouds embossed; Out of this wealth and all this majesty Sing to them that they be not wholly lost. Prince of the earth, when such as thee do die, Laid in rich pall, with gentle hands there crossed, All my clear sprites in Paradise that lie Sing to them that they be not wholly lost. 1916.