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- The Englishman and Other Poems - 6/12 -

See yonder Churchman, opulently doing Unnumbered deeds, which gladden and resound; The while his thrifty tenant is pursuing The white slave trade on sacred, untaxed ground. (God rules, God rules alway.)

For these are but the outward signs of fever; Those flaunting signs, which through delirium burn; And the clear-seeing eye of each Believer Can note the coming crisis. It will turn, For it has reached its summit. Convalescing, The sick world shall arise to strength and peace, And earth shall bloom, with each and every blessing Life waits to give, when wars and conflicts cease. (God rules, God rules alway.)

This is a mighty hour. No sounds of drumming, No flying flags, no heralds do appear; No Wise Men of the East proclaim His coming; Yet He is coming--nay, our Christ is here! And man shall leave his fever dreams behind him; Those dreams of avarice, and lust, and sin, And seek his Lord; yea, he shall seek and find Him, In his own soul, where He has always been. (God rules, God rules alway.)

Man longs for God. Before the Christ we wot of, With His brief mighty message, came to earth, Before His life, or creed, or cross were thought of, The love of love within man's breast had birth. But blindly, through his carnal senses reaching, He plucked dead fruit, and nothing has sufficed; Nor can his soul find rest in any teaching, Until he knows that he, himself, is Christ. (God rules, God rules alway.)

Oh, when he knows this truth in all its splendour, What majesty, what glory crowns his life: And, one with God, his every thought is tender; He cannot enter into war, or strife. His love goes out to every race and nation; His whole religion lies in being kind. THIS IS THE CREED THAT MEANS THE WORLD'S SALVATION; THE BIRTH OF CHRIST IN EVERY MORTAL MIND. (God rules, God rules alway.)


You may talk of reformations, of the Economic Plan, That shall stem the Social Evil in its course; But the Ancient Sin of nations, must be got at in THE MAN. If you want to cleanse a river, seek the source.

Ever since his first beginning, Man has had his way, in lust. He has never learned the law of Self-Control; And the World condones his sinning, and the Doctors say he must, And the Churches shut their eyes, and take his toll.

And the lauded 'Lovely Mothers' send the son out into life With no knowledge-welded armour for the fight; 'He will make his way like others, through the Oat field, to the Wife'; 'He will somehow be led onward, to the light.'

Yes, his leaders, they shall find him. On the highways at each turn, (Since you did not choose to counsel or to warn,) They shall tempt him, then shall bind him; they shall blight, and they shall burn, Down to offspring and descendants yet unborn.

It can never end through preaching; it can never end through laws; This social sore, no punishment can heal. It must be the mother's teaching of the purpose, and the cause, And God's glory, lying under sex appeal.

She must feel no fear to name it to the children it has brought; She must speak of it as sacred, and sublime; She must beautify, not shame it, by her speech and by her thought; Till they listen, and respect it, for all time.

From the heart they rested under ere they saw the light of day, Must the daughters and the sons be taught this truth; Till they think of it with wonder, as a holy thing alway; While love's wisdom guides them safely through their youth.

Oh, the world has made its devil, and the Mothers let it grow; And the Man has dragged their thoughts down to the earth. There will be no Social Evil, when each waking mind shall know All the grandeur and the beauty hid in birth.

When each Mother sets the fashion to win confidence, and trust, And to teach the mighty lesson, Self-Control, We can lift the great Sex passion from the darkness and the dust, And enshrine it on the altar of the soul.


It may be that I dreamed a dream; it may be that I saw The forecast of a time to come by some supernal law.

I seemed to dwell in this same world, and in this modern time; Yet nowhere was there sight or sound of poverty or crime. All strife had ceased; men were disarmed; and quiet Peace had made A thousand avenues for toil, in place of War's grim trade. From east to west, from north to south where highways smooth and broad Tied State to State, the waste lands bloomed, like garden spots of God. There were no beggars in the streets; there were no unemployed, For each man owned his plot of ground, and laboured and enjoyed. Sweet children grew like garden flowers; all strong and fair to see; And when I marvelled at the sight, thus spake a Voice to me: 'All Motherhood is now an art; the greatest art on earth; And nowhere is there known the crime of one unwelcome birth From rights of parentage the sick and sinful are debarred; For Matron Science keeps our house, and at the door stands guard. We know the cure for darkness lies in letting in the light; And Prisons are replaced by Schools, where wrong views change to right. The wisdom, knowledge, study, thought, once bent on beast and sod, We give now to the human race, the highest work of God; And, as the gardener chooses seed, so we select with care; And as our Man Plant grows, we give him soil and sun and air. There are no slums; no need of alms; all men are opulent, For Mother Earth belongs to them, as was the First Intent.'

It may be that I dreamed a dream; it may be that I saw The forecast of a time to come by some supernal law.


Whether you frolic with comrade boys, Or sit at your studies, or play with toys, Whatever your station, or place, or sphere, For just one purpose God sent you here; And always and ever, you are to me - Dear little Mothers, of Men to be.

So would I guard you from all mean things; From the dwarfing of wealth, and from poverty's stings. And from silly mothers of fuss and show, And from dissolute fathers whose aims are low, I would take you, and shield you, and set you free, Dear little Mothers, of Men to be.

And then were the wish of my heart fulfilled, Around about you, the world should build A wall of Wisdom, with Truth for its Tower, Where mind and body would wax in power, Till the tender twig was a splendid tree - Dear little Mothers, of Men to be.

It is only a dream; but the world grows wise, And a mighty truth in the dream seed lies That shall gladden the earth, in its time and place. WE MUST BETTER THE MOTHERS TO BETTER THE RACE. A dream? nay, a vision, which all must see, Dear little Mothers, of Men to be.


Alone I climb the steep ascending path Which leads to knowledge. In the babbling throngs That hurry after, shouting to the world Small fragments of large truths, there is not one Who comprehends my purpose, or who sees The ultimate great goal. Why, even she, My heaven intended Spouse, my other self, Religion, turns her beauteous face on me With hatred in the eyes, where love should dwell. While those who call me Master blindly run, Wounding the ear of Faith with blasphemies, And making useless slaughter in my name.

Mine is the difficult slow task to blaze A road of Facts, through labyrinths of dreams To tear down Maybe and establish IS: And substitute I Know for I Believe. I follow closely where the Seers have led: But that intangible dim path of theirs, Which may be trodden but by other Seers, I seek to render solid for the feet Of all mankind. With reverent hands I lift The mask from Mystery: and show the face

The Englishman and Other Poems - 6/12

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