"Thus saith the Lord, with equal feet All men my courts shall tread, And priest and ruler no more shall eat My people up like bread!
"Repent! repent! ere the Lord shall speak In thunder and breaking seals Let all souls worship Him in the way His light within reveals."
She shook the dust from her naked feet, And her sackcloth closer drew, And into the porch of the awe-hushed church She passed like a ghost from view.
They whipped her away at the tail o' the cart Through half the streets of the town, But the words she uttered that day nor fire Could burn nor water drown.
And now the aisles of the ancient church By equal feet are trod, And the bell that swings in its belfry rings Freedom to worship God!
And now whenever a wrong is done It thrills the conscious walls; The stone from the basement cries aloud And the beam from the timber calls.
There are steeple-houses on every hand, And pulpits that bless and ban, And the Lord will not grudge the single church That is set apart for man.
For in two commandments are all the law And the prophets under the sun, And the first is last and the last is first, And the twain are verily one.
So, long as Boston shall Boston be, And her bay-tides rise and fall, Shall freedom stand in the Old South Church And plead for the rights of all!
1877.
THE HENCHMAN.
MY lady walks her morning round, My lady's page her fleet greyhound, My lady's hair the fond winds stir, And all the birds make songs for her.
Her thrushes sing in Rathburn bowers, And Rathburn side is gay with flowers; But ne'er like hers, in flower or bird, Was beauty seen or music heard.
The distance of the stars is hers; The least of all her worshippers, The dust beneath her dainty heel, She knows not that I see or feel.
Oh, proud and calm!--she cannot know Where'er she goes with her I go; Oh, cold and fair!--she cannot guess I kneel to share her hound's caress!
Gay knights beside her hunt and hawk, I rob their ears of her sweet talk; Her suitors come from east and west, I steal her smiles from every guest.
Unheard of her, in loving words, I greet her with the song of birds; I reach her with her green-armed bowers, I kiss her with the lips of flowers.
The hound and I are on her trail, The wind and I uplift her veil; As if the calm, cold moon she were, And I the tide, I follow her.
As unrebuked as they, I share The license of the sun and air, And in a common homage hide My worship from her scorn and pride.
World-wide apart, and yet so near, I breathe her charmed atmosphere, Wherein to her my service brings The reverence due to holy things.
Her maiden pride, her haughty name, My dumb devotion shall not shame; The love that no return doth crave To knightly levels lifts the slave,
No lance have I, in joust or fight, To splinter in my lady's sight But, at her feet, how blest were I For any need of hers to die!
1877.
THE DEAD FEAST OF THE KOL-FOLK.
E. B. Tylor in his Primitive Culture, chapter xii., gives an account of the reverence paid the dead by the Kol tribes of Chota Nagpur, Assam.
"When a Ho or Munda," he says, "has been burned on the funeral pile, collected morsels of his bones are carried in procession with a solemn, ghostly, sliding step, keeping time to the deep-sounding drum, and when the old woman who carries the bones on her bamboo tray lowers it from time to time, then girls who carry pitchers and brass vessels mournfully reverse them to show that they are empty; thus the remains are taken to visit every house in the village, and every dwelling of a friend or relative for miles, and the inmates come out to mourn and praise the goodness of the departed; the bones are carried to all the dead man's favorite haunts, to the fields he cultivated, to the grove he planted, to the threshing-floor where he worked, to the village dance-room where he made merry. At last they are taken to the grave, and buried in an earthen vase upon a store of food, covered with one of those huge stone slabs which European visitors wonder at in the districts of the aborigines of India." In the Journal of the Asiatic Society, Bengal, vol. ix., p. 795, is a Ho dirge.
WE have opened the door, Once, twice, thrice!
We have swept the floor, We have boiled the rice.
Come hither, come hither!
Come from the far lands, Come from the star lands, Come as before!
We lived long together, We loved one another; Come back to our life.
Come father, come mother, Come sister and brother, Child, husband, and wife, For you we are sighing.
Come take your old places, Come look in our faces, The dead on the dying, Come home!
We have opened the door, Once, twice, thrice!
We have kindled the coals, And we boil the rice For the feast of souls.
Come hither, come hither!
Think not we fear you, Whose hearts are so near you.
Come tenderly thought on, Come all unforgotten, Come from the shadow-lands, From the dim meadow-lands Where the pale grasses bend Low to our sighing.
Come father, come mother, Come sister and brother, Come husband and friend, The dead to the dying, Come home!
We have opened the door You entered so oft; For the feast of souls We have kindled the coals, And we boil the rice soft.
Come you who are dearest To us who are nearest, Come hither, come hither, From out the wild weather; The storm clouds are flying, The peepul is sighing; Come in from the rain.
Come father, come mother, Come sister and brother, Come husband and lover, Beneath our roof-cover.
Look on us again, The dead on the dying, Come home!
We have opened the door!
For the feast of souls We have kindled the coals We may kindle no more!
Snake, fever, and famine, The curse of the Brahmin, The sun and the dew, They burn us, they bite us, They waste us and smite us; Our days are but few In strange lands far yonder To wonder and wander We hasten to you.
List then to our sighing, While yet we are here Nor seeing nor hearing, We wait without fearing, To feel you draw near.
O dead, to the dying Come home!
1879.
THE KHAN'S DEVIL.
THE Khan came from Bokhara town To Hamza, santon of renown.
"My head is sick, my hands are weak; Thy help, O holy man, I seek."
In silence marking for a space The Khan's red eyes and purple face,
Thick voice, and loose, uncertain tread, "Thou hast a devil!" Hamza said.