OPOET, from some higher atmosphere
Than breathes who thro' this world's dim caverns toil
For basest is, and hope's white garments soil,
Subduing aspiration, lest the tear
Of anguish fall or sorrow's steps draw near, -
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Removed from these and the heart-sick turmoil
That chokes faith in its blinding dust - with clear,
Strong voice, hand lightning-swift sin's thrusts to foil,
With subtle stroke of wit to strip the dress
From shame that tricks itself in holiness,
Firm judgment to dissever right and wrong,
Bounty of thought, imagination quaint,
Dauntless thou singest, Prince of modern song,
Loud thro' life's whirl, when other songs wax faint!
F.
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Co-operative Society Bulletin.
