¶THE DIVINE PREROGATIVE

Lord, where are Thy prerogatives?

Why, men have more than Thou hast kept,

The king rewards, remits, forgives,

The poet to a throne has stept.

And Thou, despoiled, hast given away

Worship to men, success to strife,

Thy glory to the heavenly day,

And made Thy sun the lord of life.

Is one too precious to impart,

One property reserved to Christ?

One, cherished, grappled to that heart?

—To be alone the sacrificed?

O Thou who lovest to redeem,

One whom I know lies sore oppressed.

Thou wilt not suffer me to deem

That I can bargain for her rest.

Seven hours I swiftly sleep, while she

Measures the leagues of dark, awake.

Oh that my dewy eyes might be

Parched by a vigil for her sake!

But Oh rejected! Oh in vain!

I cannot give who would not keep.

I cannot buy, I cannot gain,

I cannot give her half my sleep.

16Of these Poems fifty copies have

been printed by Francis Meynell

and others in the Fell Type

September 1915

Rubricated by Edward

Johnston, December, 1915

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

Fixed typos; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.