‘LIBERTY?’ Is that the cry, th… We have heard it oft of yore. Once it had, we think, a meaning; Let us hear it now no more. We have read what history tells us
WHERE is poor Jesus gone? He sits with Dives now, And his dogs flesh their teeth On Lazarus below. Where is poor Jesus gone?
(After reading his 'Modern Painte… YES, you do well to mock us, you Who knew our bitter woe ' To jeer the false, deny the true In us blind-struggling low,
(Song of the American Sons of La… The Song O WE knew so well, dear Father, When we answered to your call, And the Southern Moloch stricken
(To——) HAD you lived when a tyrant King Strove to make all the slaves of o… With Nobles and with Churchmen yo… Had stood unflinching, pure and tr…
. . . They caught him at the bend.… Sat in the car, revolvers in their… From either side the stone-walled… There flashed thin fire-streaks in… The father swayed and fell, shot t…
THE stars shone faint through the… The church-bells were ringing; Three girls, arms laced, were pass… Tramping and singing. Their heads were bare: their short…
Lord Shaftesbury YOU have done well, we say it. Y… And, of the man that with the righ… Less than the left hand gives, let… He has done something for our wret…
(Coral Sea, Australia) DEAD in the sheep-pen he lies, Wrapped in an old brown sail. The smiling blue sea and the skies Know not sorrow nor wail.
Death? is it death you give? So b… thou hast been long my friend,… cool cheek shall have my kiss, whi… expires on thy still lips, O lovel… Come then, loose hands, fair Life…
UP from the oven pit, The hell where poor men toil, At the sunset hour he comes Clean-clothed, washed from soil. On the fo’c’s’le head he kneels,
GIRLS, we love you, and love Asks you to give again That which draws it above, Beautiful, without stain. Give us weariless faith
. . . I went the other day To see the birds and beasts they k… In the London Zoo. One of the fi… One of the first I noticed, was a… Ragged, befouled, within his iron…
NOT for the thought that burns on… Heat that the heat has turned from… The passion of the lone rememberin… One with the patience day must see… Not for the shafts the lying foeme…
‘YES, let Art go, if it must be That with it men must starve ’ If Music, Painting, Poetry Spring from the wasted hearth!’ Yes, let Art go, till once again
