Page:Canadian poems of the great war.djvu/210

 Richard Scrace

The quarrymen have fled the house.

In red its polished stones are dyed;

By blood they trace their message, they

Who worked with angels at their side.

Resist, resist, again resist!

The souls of all things lovely cry

From spire and tower, wherever fell

The thoughtful glance of artist eye.

Without a vision we perish, they say,

In night as dark as ever lay

On earth; and in that gloom we die.

God blessed the myth that dwelt with man, And shall not Venice, too, survive? The same protecting angels guard The glory of the ancient plan !

��G

��THE POTTER

IVE me the clay/ the Potter said, My kiln is ready charged with fire;

The mass shall leave its miry bed And feel the trend of my desire.

Give me the clay, that I may make My dream a real, a beauteous thing !

I thrill with thirst, and I must slake That thirst in joys of fashioning/

O wondrous Artist, who hast willed A fadeless pattern for our clay

With all it asks give too, we pray-r- The hall-mark of our Ancient Guild.

Thy finger-print alone can give A splendour to the sodden grey

Take then, O Man of Dreams, our clay And by Thy fire, fit us to live !

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