William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham)

We thank Thee, Lord, For mercies manifold in these dark days;-- For Heart of Grace that would not suffer wrong;

With hearts responsive And enfranchised eyes, We thank Thee, Lord,--

We thank Thee, Lord, For all Thy Golden Silences,-- For every Sabbath from the world's turmoil;

(TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN) Hello!    Hello! Are you there?    Are you there?

Britain!    Our Britain!    uprisen in the splendour Of your white wrath at treacheries so vile; Roused from your sleep, become once more defender

Lord, when Thou seest that my work is done, Let me not linger on, With failing powers,

Is the pathway dark and dreary? God's in His heaven! Are you broken, heart-sick, weary?

Curly head, and laughing eyes,-- Mischief that all blame defies. Cricket,--footer,--Eton-jacket,--

Soul, dost thou fear For to-day or to-morrow? 'Tis the part of a fool

I have been tried, Tried in the fire, And I say this,

Better in bitterest agony to lie, Before Thy throne, Than through much increase to be lifted up on high,

Though the times be dark and dreary, Though the way be long, Keep your spirits bright and cheery,--

You that still have your sight, Remember me!-- I risked my life, I lost my eyes,

Each sin has its door of entrance. Keep--that--door--closed! Bolt it tight!

I hear a clear voice calling, calling, Calling out of the night, O, you who live in the Light of Life,

Burden-bearers are we all, Great and small. Burden-sharers be ye all,

Christ stands at the bar of the world to-day, As He stood in the days of old. And still, as then, we do betray

Our Boys Who Have Gone to the Front ("Be christs!"--was one of W.    T.    Stead's favourite sayings.    Not "Be like Christ!"--but--"Be christs!"    And he used the word no doubt in its original meaning,--anointed, ordained, chosen.    As such we, whose boys have gone to the Front, think of them.    For they have gone, most of them, from a simple, high sense of duty, and in many cases under direst feeling of personal repulsion against the whole ghastly business.    They have sacrificed everything, knowing full well that many of them will never return to us.) Ye are all christs in this your self-surrender,--

"Comfort ye, my people!" Saith your God,-- "And be ye comforted!

Not what, but WHOM, I do believe, That, in my darkest hour of need, Hath comfort that no mortal creed

Oft, as he jogs along the Winding-Way, Occasion comes for Every Man to say,-- "This Road?--or That?" and as he chooses them,

For every Guest who comes with him to sup, The Host compounds a strangely mingled cup;-- Red Wine of Life and Dregs of Bitterness,

There is darkness still, gross darkness, Lord, On this fair earth of Thine. There are prisoners still in the prison-house,

(As earnestly as any I crave the victory of Right over this madness of Insensate Might against which we are contending.    As certainly as any I would, if that were conceivably possible, have adequate punishment meted out to those who have brought this horror upon the world.    But I see, as all save the utterly earth-blinded must see--that when the Day of Settlement comes, and we and our allies are in a position to impose terms, unless we go into the Council-Chamber with hearts set inflexibly on the Common Weal of the World--in a word, unless we invite Christ to a seat at the Board--the end may be even worse than the beginning;--this which we have hoped and prayed night be the final war may prove but the beginning of strifes incredible.) "Only through Me!" ...    The clear, high call comes pealing, Above the thunders of the battle-plain;--

Just do your best, And leave the rest To Him who gave you

Bright stars of Faith and Hope, her eyes Shall shine for us through all the years. For all her life was Love, and fears

The sun shone white and fair, This Eastertide, Yet all its sweetness seemed but to deride

Evening brings us home,-- From our wanderings afar, From our multifarious labours,

King's Daughter! Wouldst thou be all fair, Without--within--

Lord, give me faith!--to live from day to day, With tranquil heart to do my simple part, And, with my hand in Thine, just go Thy way.

Flora, with wondrous feathers in her hat, Rain-soaked, and limp, and feeling very flat, With flowers of sorts in her full basket, sat,

The Mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small-- So soft and slow the great wheels go they scarcely move at all; But the souls of men fall into them and are powdered into dust,

Lord God of Hosts, whose mighty hand Dominion holds on sea and land, In Peace and War Thy Will we see

Free men of God, the New Day breaks In golden gleams across the sky; The darkness of the night is past,

Let no man stand between my God and me! I claim a Free man's right Of intercourse direct with Him,

Rabbi, begone! Thy powers Bring loss to us and ours. Our ways are not as Thine.

Though every nerve be strained To fine accomplishment, Full oft the life fall spent

God is; God sees; God loves;

I faced a future all unknown, No opening could I see, I heard without the night wind moan,

He writes in characters too grand For our short sight to understand; We catch but broken strokes, and try

They died that we might live,-- Hail!--And Farewell! --All honour give

O Exiled Hearts--for you, for you-- Love still can find the way! Hear the voices of the women on the road!

Our feet have wandered, wandered far and wide,-- His mercy endureth for ever! From that strait path in which the Master died,--

Where are all the young men? There are only grey-heads here. What has become of the young men?

Some lives are set in narrow ways, By Love's wise tenderness. They seem to suffer all their days

Better than I, Thou knowest, Lord, All my necessity,

A land of lights and shadows intervolved, A land of blazing sun and blackest night, A fortress armed, and guarded jealously,

Is life worth living? It depends on your believing;-- If it ends with this short span,

The nations are in the proving; Each day is Judgment Day; And the peoples He finds wanting

Every day is Judgment Day, Count on no to-morrow. He who will not, when he may,

Where the great green combers break in thunder on the barrier reefs,-- Where, unceasing, sounds the mighty diapason of the deep,-- Ringed in bursts of wild wave-laughter, ringed in leagues of flying foam,--

Mr. F.W. Christian, of the Polynesian Society of New Zealand, whose personal acquaintance with the South Sea Islands and their dialects is unique, is translating "Kapiolani" into Rarotongan. He writes-- "I enclose a four-line stanza which, translating your first line--'Where the great green combers break,' etc.--strictly according to East Polynesian ballad-metres, ushers in your great theme. "'Kapiolani' will, I trust, God willing, become a household classic in many of the Eastern Islands, such as Rapa and Manahiki, where the Rarotongan language runs current as a sort of Lingua Franca or Sacred Esperanto, thanks to the magnificent translation of the Bible by the great missionary, John Williams. I have translated the poem most carefully, and as accurately as possible into the peculiar metre and cast of expression which an Eastern Polynesian 'Atu-Pe'e, or Versifier, would immediately grasp as idiomatic. The first lines run thus:--"

Winter hung about the ways, Very loth to go. Little Spring could not get past him,

O God, within whose sight All men have equal right To worship Thee.

"'Tis all a Chequer-Board of Nights and Days, Where Detiny with men for pieces plays, Hither and thither moves, and mates and slays,

To lift the sombre fringes of the Night, To open lands long darkened to the Light, To heal grim wounds, to give the blind new sight,

With a will! With a will! With a will and surely!

"My heart to-day Is strangely full of home! How is it

Art thou lonely, O my brother? Share thy little with another! Stretch a hand to one unfriended,

Lord, save their souls alive! And--for the rest,-- We leave it all to Thee;

Devils' work! Devils' work, my masters! Britain, your hands are red!

(A WARNING) "Am I my brother's keeper?" Yes, of a truth!

Each man is Captain of his Soul, And each man his own Crew, But the Pilot knows the Unknown Seas,

Fold up the tent! The sun is in the West. To-morrow my untented soul will range

In Christ there is no East or West, In Him no South or North, But one great Fellowship of Love

Where one is, There am I,-- No man goeth alone!

An inconclusive peace!-- A peace that would be no peace-- Naught but a treacherous truce for breeding

By the grace of God and the courage Of the peoples far and wide, By the toil and sweat of those who lived,

And we ourselves?    Are our hands clean? Are our souls free from blame For this world-tragedy?

Bond-slave to Christ, and in my bonds rejoicing, Earmarked to Him I counted less than nought; His man henceforward, eager to be voicing

"See this my garden, Large and fair!" --Thus, to his friend,

Is there, in you or me, Seed of that poison-tree Which, in its bitter fruiting, bore

"Shall it be Peace? A voice within me cried and would not cease,-- 'One man could do it if he would but dare.'"

I stood, unseen, within a sumptous room, Where one clothed all in white sat silently. So sweet his presence that a pure soft light

O Thou who standest both for God and Man, O King of Kings, who wore no earthly crown, O Prince of Peace, unto Thy feet we come,

NORTH We come from the gloom of the shadowy trail Out away on the fringe of the Night,

Profit?--Loss? Who shall declare this good--that ill?-- When good and ill so intertwine

Earthly props are useless, On Thy grace I fall; Earthly strength is weakness,

Peter, outworn, And menaced by the sword, Shook off the dust of Rome;

I saw one hanging on a tree, And O his face was sad to see,-- Misery, misery me!

From deepest depth, O Lord, I cry to Thee. "My Love runs quick to your necessity." I am bereft; my soul is sick with loss.

Singing, she washed Her baby's clothes, And, one by one,

"My lord, there came unto the gate One, in such pitiful estate, So all forlorn and desolate,

Just see that we get full value Of that for which we have paid. The price has been a heavy one,

Pearl Iridescent! Pearl of the sea! Shimmering, glimmering Pearl of the sea! White in the sun-flecked Silver Sea,

What shall we be like when We cast this earthly body and attain To immortality?

Shadows are but for the moment-- Quickly past; And then the sun the brighter shines

To us it seemed his life was too soon done, Ended, indeed, while scarcely yet begun; God, with His clearer vision, saw that he

(For the Braille Magazine) When the outer eye grows dim, Turns the inner eye to Him,

Some have much, and some have more, Some are rich, and some are poor, Some have little, some have less,

Stephen, who died while I stood by consenting, Wrought in his death the making of a life, Bruised one hard heart to thought of swift repenting,

Great-Heart is dead, they say,-- Great-Heart the Teacher, Great-Heart the Joyous,

We thank Thee, O our God, for this Long fought-for, hoped-for, prayed-for peace; Thou dost cast down, and Thou upraise,

JUNE, 1902 Thank God for Peace! Up to the sombre sky

The spikenard was not wasted;-- All down the tale of years, The fragrance of that broken alabaster

With the thirty pieces of silver, They bought the Potter's Field; For none would have the blood-money

(Cradle Song from "The Long Road.") Whisht, Baby! Whisht! Quick below the cover!

When the Bells of Ys rang softly,--softly, Soft--and sweet--and low, Not a sound was heard in the old gray town,

(AN ALLEGORY) One day, as I travelled the highway alone, I heard, on in front, a most dolorous groan;

On Christmas Day The Child was born, On Christmas Day in the morning;-- --To tread the long way, lone and lorn,

The good intent of God became the Christ. And lived on earth--the Living Love of God, That men might draw to closer touch with heaven,

When, with bowed head, And silent-streaming tears, With mingled hopes and fears,

()"In the evening I went for a walk to a village lately shelled by German heavy guns.    Their effect was awful--ghastly.    It was impossible to imagine the amount of damage done until one really saw it.    The church was terrible too.    The spire was sticking upside down in the ground a short distance from the door.    The church itself was a mass of debris.    Scarcely anything was left unhit.    In the churchyard again the destruction was terrific--tombstones thrown all over the place.    But the most noticeable thing of all was that the three Crucifixes--one inside and two outside--were untouched!    How they can have avoided the shelling is quite beyond me.    It was a wonderful sight though an awful one.    There were holes in the churchyard about fifteen feet across."--From a letter from my boy at the Front.) The churchyard stones all blasted into shreds, The dead re-slain within their lowly beds,--

Not for one single day Can I discern my way, But this I surely know,--

Wherever is an empty chair-- Lord, be Thou there! And fill it--like an answered prayer--

"A little child shall lead them." I trod an arduous way, but came at last To where the city walls rose fair and white

Through every minute of this day, Be with me, Lord! Through every day of all this week,

The Golden Rose is blowing still, Is growing still, is glowing still, In lonely vale, on lordly hill,

The Greatest Day that ever dawned,-- It was a Winter's Morn. The Finest Temple ever built

Down to the sea, the hungry sea, O the sea is hungry ever! Seeking food for the bairns and me,

As It was in the Beginning,-- Is Now,-- And...?

Time beats out all things with his iron flail, Things great, things small. With steady strokes that never fail,

A wonderful Way is The King's High Way; It runs through the Nightlands up to the Day; From the wonderful WAS, by the wonderful IS,

I;-- Thou;-- We;--

Long the road, Till Love came down it! Dark the life,

(A Warning) I saw my fellows In Poverty Street,--

Unnamed at times, at times unknown, Our graves lie thick beyond the seas; Unnamed, but not of Him unknown;--

Hark! The drums! Muffled drums! The long low ruffle of the drums!-- And every head is bowed,

But once I pass this way, And then--no more. But once--and then, the Silent Door

A Potter, playing with his lump of clay, Fashioned an image of supremest worth. "Never was nobler image made on earth,

O, Prince of Life, Thy Life hath tuned All life to sweeter, loftier grace! Life's common rounds have wider bounds

God is a zealous pruner, For He knows-- Who, falsely tender, spares the knife

All through the blood-red Autumn, When the harvest came to the full; When the days were sweet with sunshine,

Shapeless and grim, A Shadow dim O'erhung the ways,

How can the makers of unrighteous wars Stand the accusal of the watchful stars? To stand--

He only sees both sides of that dark vail That hangs before men's eyes-- He only. It is well!

Who are the Makers of Wars? The Kings of the earth. And who are these Kings of the earth?

To every man there openeth A Way, and Ways, and a Way. And the High Soul climbs the High way,

Lord, Thou hast stricken us, smitten us sore, Winnowed us fine on the dread threshing-floor. "Had I not reason?--far you had strayed,

"A red rose for my helmet, And a word before we part! The rose shall be my oriflamme

From North and South, and East and West, They come! The sorely tried, the much oppressed,

Out of all the reek and turmoil Of the dreadful battle-plain, Came a voice insistent, calling,

"Thy Will be done!" Let all the worlds Resound with that divinest prayer!

And hast Thou help for such as me, Sin-weary, stained, forlorn? "Yea then,--if not for such as thee

I know!    I know!-- The ceaseless ache, the emptiness, the woe,-- The pang of loss,--

Lord Christ, let me but hold Thy hand And all the rest may go. For nothing is, but only seems,

An Anticipation As sure as God's in His Heaven, As sure as He stands for Right,

(THE PLEA OF THE MUNITION-WORKER) "Rattle and clatter and clank and whirr,"-- And it's long and long the day is.

This mortal dies,-- But, in the moment when the light fails here, The darkness opens, and the vision clear

The wind blows shrill along the hill, --Black is the night and cold-- The sky hangs low with its weight of snow,

Think not of any one of them as wasted, Or to the void like broken tools outcasted,-- Unnoticed, unregretted, and unknown.

Watchman!    What of the night? No light we see,-- Our souls are bruised and sickened with the sight

We thank Thee, Lord, That of Thy tender grace, In our distress

Warp and Woof and Tangle,-- Weavers of Webs are we. Living and dying--and mightier dead,

As gold is tried in the furnace, So He tries the hearts of men; And the dwale and the dross shall suffer loss,

Where are you sleeping to-night, My Lad, Above-ground--or below? The last we heard you were up at the front,

Lord, when on my bed I lie, Sleepless, unto Thee I'll cry; When my brain works overmuch,

Midway between the flaming lines he lay, A tumbled heap of blood, and sweat, and clay; --God's son!

Unless our Souls win back to Thee, We shall have lost this fight. Yes, though we win on field and sea,

Is your place a small place? Tend it with care!-- He set you there.