Page:Poems by Isaac Rosenberg (1922).djvu/173



God's mercy shines; And our full hearts must make record of this, For grief that burst from out its dark confines Into strange sunlit bliss.

I stood where glowed The merry glare of golden whirring lights Above the monstrous mass that seethed and flowed Through one of London's nights.

I watched the gleams Of jagged warm lights on shrunk faces pale: I heard mad laughter as one hears in dreams Or Hell's harsh lurid tale.

The traffic rolled, A gliding chaos populous of din, A steaming wail at doom the Lord had scrawled For perilous loads of sin.