The moon has come. Wan and pallid is she. The spell of half memories, the touch of half tears, And the wounds of worn passions she brings to me With all the tremor of the far-off years And their mad wrong.
Yet the garden is very quiet to-night, The dusk has long gone with the Evening Star, And out on the bay the moon's wan light Lays a silver pathway beyond the bar, Dear heart, pale and long.
It was not fate which overtook me, Rather a wayward, wilful wind That blew hot for awhile And then, as the even shadows came, blew cold. What pity it is that a man grown old in life's dreaming Should stop, e'en for a moment, to look into a woman's eyes. And I forgot! Forgot that one's heart must be steeled against the east wind. Life and death alike come out of the East: Life as tender as young grass, Death as dreadful as the sight of clotted blood. I shall go back into the darkness, Not to dream but to seek the light again. I shall go by paths, mayhap, On roads that wind around the foothills Where the plains are bare and wild And the passers-by come few and far between. I want the night to be long, the moon blind, The hills thick with moving memories, And my heart beating a breathless requiem For all the dead days I have lived. When the Dawn comes--Dawn, deathless, dreaming-- I shall will that my soul must be cleansed of hate, I shall pray for strength to hold children close to my heart, I shall desire to build houses where the poor will know shelter, comfort, beauty. And then may I look into a woman's eyes And find holiness, love and the peace which passeth understanding.
Done at Atlanta, in the Day of Death, 1906
O Silent God, Thou whose voice afar in mist and mystery hath left our ears an-hungered in these fearful days-- _Hear us, good Lord!_
Listen to us, Thy children: our faces dark with doubt are made a mockery in Thy sanctuary. With uplifted hands we front Thy heaven, O God, crying: _We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord!_
We are not better than our fellows, Lord, we are but weak and human men. When our devils do deviltry, curse Thou the doer and the deed: curse them as we curse them, do to them all and more than ever they have done to innocence and weakness, to womanhood and home. _Have mercy upon us, miserable sinners!_