Page:The Muse in Arms, Osborn (ed), 1917.djvu/329

Rh Belching their flames between the bars,

Our fires sweep out like scimitars

Across the Eden of the stars.

And souls are sold and souls are bought,

And souls in hellish tortures wrought

To feed the mighty Juggernaut.

The dripping wheels go roaring by

And crush and kill us where we lie

Blaspheming God with our last cry.

Man's cry to man the heaven fills;

We hear not in our marts and mills

The silent voices of the hills:

The message of the breathing clay,

Calling us through the night and day

To come away, to come away!

For though old creeds, had we the will,

We cannot, lacking faith, fulfil,

The God above all creed waits still.

For still beyond the city gate,

The fallow fields eternal wait

For us to drive our furrow straight.

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