Chapter I: WAS so proud of you last night, dear girl,

While man with man was striving for your smile.
You never lost your head, nor once dropped down
From your high place
As queen in that gay whirl.

(It takes more poise to wear a little crown
With modesty and grace
Than to adorn the lordlier thrones of earth.)

You seem so free from artifice and wile:
And in your eyes I read
Encouragement to my unspoken thought.
My heart is eloquent with words to plead
Its cause of passion; but my questioning mind,
Knowing how love is blind,
Dwells on the pros and cons, and God knows what.

My heart cries with each beat,
‘She is so beautiful, so pure, so sweet,
So more than dear.’
And then I hear
The voice of Reason, asking: ‘Would she meet
Life’s common duties with good common sense?
Could she bear quiet evenings at your hearth,
And not be sighing for gay scenes of mirth?
If, some great day, love’s mighty recompense
For chastity surrendered came to her,
If she felt stir
Beneath her heart a little pulse of life,
Would she rejoice with holy pride and wonder,
And find new glory in the name of wife?
Or would she plot with sin, and seek to plunder
Love’s sanctuary, and cast away its treasure,
That she might keep her freedom and her pleasure?
Could she be loyal mate and mother dutiful?
Or is she only some bright hothouse bloom,
Seedless and beautiful,
Meant just for decoration, and for show?’
Alone here in my room,
I hear this voice of Reason. My poor heart
Has ever but one answer to impart,
‘I love her so.’

HERS

After the ball last night, when I came home
I stood before my mirror, and took note
Of all that men call beautiful. Delight,
Keen sweet delight, possessed me, when I saw
My own reflection smiling on me there,
Because your eyes, through all the swirling hours,
And in your slow good-night, had made a fact
Of what before I fancied might be so;
Yet knowing how men lie, by look and act,
I still had doubted. But I doubt no more,
I know you love me, love me. And I feel
Your satisfaction in my comeliness.

Beauty and youth, good health and willing mind,
A spotless reputation, and a heart
Longing for mating and for motherhood,
And lips unsullied by another’s kiss—
These are the riches I can bring to you.

But as I sit here, thinking of it all
In the clear light of morning, sudden fear
Has seized upon me. What has been your past?
From out the jungle of old reckless years,
May serpents crawl across our path some day
And pierce us with their fangs? Oh, I am not
A prude or bigot; and I have not lived
A score and three full years in ignorance
Of human nature. Much I can condone;
For well I know our kinship to the earth
And all created things. Why, even I
Have felt the burden of virginity,
When flowers and birds and golden butterflies
In early spring were mating; and I know
How loud that call of sex must sound to man
Above the feeble protest of the world.
But I can hear from depths within my soul
The voices of my unborn children cry
For rightful heritage. (May God attune
The souls of men, that they may hear and heed
That plaintive voice above the call of sex;
And may the world’s weak protest swell into
A thunderous diapason—a demand
For cleaner fatherhood.)
Oh, love, come near;
Look in my eyes, and say I need not fear.

THE TRAVELLER

BRISTLING with steeples, high against the hill,
Like some great thistle in the rosy dawn
It stood; the Town-of-Christian-Churches, stood.
The Traveller surveyed it with a smile.
‘Surely,’ He said, ‘here is the home of peace;
Here neighbour lives with neighbour in accord;
God in the heart of all. Else why these spires?’
(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.)

The sudden shriek of whistles changed the sound
From mellow music into jarring noise.
Then down the street pale hurrying children came,
And vanished in the yawning Factory door.
He called to them: ‘Come back, come unto Me.’
The Foreman cursed, and caned Him from the place.
(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.)

Forth from two churches came two men, and met,
Disputing loudly over boundary lines,
Hate in their eyes, and murder in their hearts.
A haughty woman drew her skirts aside
Because her fallen sister passed that way.
The Traveller rebuked them all. Amazed,
They asked in indignation, ‘Who are you,
Daring to interfere in private lives?’
The Traveller replied, ‘My name is CHRIST.’
(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.)

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

I

WHAT have you done, and what are you doing with life, O Man!
O Average Man of the world—
Average Man of the Christian world we call civilised?
What have you done to pay for the labour pains of the mother who bore
you?
On earth you occupy space; you consume oxygen from the air:
And what do you give in return for these things?
Who is better that you live, and strive, and toil?
Or that you live through the toiling and striving of others?
As you pass down the street does any one look on you and say,
‘There goes a good son, a true husband, a wise father, a fine citizen?
A man whose strong hand is ready to help a neighbour,
A man to trust’? And what do women say of you?
Unto their own souls what do women say?
Do they say: ‘He helped to make the road easier for tired feet?
To broaden the narrow horizon for aching eyes?
He helped us to higher ideals of womanhood’?
Look into your own heart and answer, O Average Man of the world,
Of the Christian world we call civilised.

II

What do men think of you, what do they think and say of you,
O Average Woman of the world?
Do they say: ‘There is a woman with a great heart,
Loyal to her sex, and above envy and evil speaking?
There is a daughter, wife, mother, with a purpose in life:
She can be trusted to mould the minds of little children.
She knows how to be good without being dull;
How to be glad and to make others glad without descending to folly;
She is one who illuminates the path wherein she walks;
One who awakens the best in every human being she meets’?
Look into your heart, O Woman! and answer this:
What are you doing with the beautiful years?
Is your to-day a better thing than was your yesterday?
Have you grown in knowledge, grace, and usefulness?
Or are you ravelling out the wonderful fabric knit by Time,
And throwing away the threads?
Make answer, O Woman! Average Woman of the Christian world.

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at the Edinburgh University Press