No More Learning

O children of the light, now in our grief Give us again the solace of belief.
Remembering lovely eyes now closed with dust "There is no beauty that outlasts the breath. "
For we are growing blind and cannot see,
Beyond the clouds that stand like prison bars,
EN PASSANT By Marx Sabel
Out of the sultry night she came, With tired lips aflame;
Deep in her mutineering eyes The nervous anger of emprise
Wakened and fought the black, Ice-cold oppression back;
Fought in the hope of hopelessness, And fought for Artemis;
Fought in the. trust the fight would let Her weary heart forget;
Fought in the faith that some fair day True love would find its way
Over the wall that stood By her lost maidenhood.
Out of the heavy night she came, Silently calling his name;
Deep in her mutineering eyes Love chanting lullabies,
Timidly questioning
One who was wont to sing,
Stilling the songs upon his lips, Freezing his finger tips,
Stabbing his heart, and nailing his feet Fast to the iron street,
Trustingly going then
Down the dark street again.
8•
Of stinking stories; a tale, a dream.
The Priests are singing in their stalls,
Their singing lifts, their incense burns, their praying clamours; Yet God is as the sparrow falls;
The ivy drifts,
The votive urns
Are all left void when Fortune turns,
The god is but a marble for the kerns
To break with hammers; a tale, a dream.
O Beauty, let me know again
The green earth cold, the April rain, the quiet waters figuring sky, The one star risen.
So shall I pass into the feast
Not touched by King, Merchant or Priest;
Know the red spirit of the beast,
Be the green grain;
Escape from prison.
(Copyright, 1917, by John Masefield)
3
THE CHOICE By John Masefield
The Kings go by with jewelled crowns;
Their horses gleam, their banners shake, their spears are many. The sack of many-peopled towns
Is all their dream:
The way they take
Leaves but a ruin in the brake,
And, in the furrow that the plowmen make,
A stampless penny; a tale, a dream.
The Merchants reckon up their gold,
Their letters come, their ships arrive, their freights are glories: The profits of their treasures sold,
They tell and sum ;
Their foremen drive
, Their servants, starved to half-alive,
"
Whose labors do but make the earth a hive
THE GHOST
By Marjorie Allen Seiffert
Quiet dust is every vow We have spoken,
All alike forgotten now, Kept or broken.
One small ghost still haunts the vast Empty night,
Mutely seeking for its last Burial rite.
Just the love I long ago Ceased to mourn,
Begging that I let you know It was born.
TO BLANCHE By John Hall Wheelock
What is this memory, this homesickness, That draws me to yourself resistlessly
As to some far place where I long to be—
This exile's hungering for loveliness?
Here in the night the face that I caress
Lies like a moonlit land beyond the sea,
A kingdom lost, toward which the heart of me, Shipwrecked and worn, beats backward in distress.
Have I been here before? How long ago,
And on what pilgrimage and journey far Was lost this land remembered ? By what star
Did I steer homeward? Only this I know, That all my being from my breast would go
To the dear home and heaven where you are.
4
THE SALVATION ARMY'S SONG By Phoebe Hoffman
"It's Christmas time, it's Christmas time," Echo the feet in the dusty street.
"It's Christmas time, it's Christmas time," The quavering tambourines repeat.
"God looks down from His judgment seat, 'Good will on earth' is His message sweet,
Turn your hearts to the Lord.
"The chimes will ring on Christmas Day, The chimes will ring on Christmas Day, And rich and poor will kneel and pray. The rich will feast on Christmas Day;
The poor will fast on Christmas Day.
Have you no mite to give away,
So the poor may eat on Christmas Day?
If you've only a penny, or a nickel, or a dime, Drop it in, drop it in, listen to it chime.
Take a silver minute from your treasured time; Listen to it tinkle a little chime
For the poor lost sheep of the Lord. "
There's wind and sleet on the bitter street, And it nips the fingers and numbs the feet. Electric signs flash on and out,
And gold-eyed motors dart about,
And trolleys jangle,
And crowds untangle,
And still they stand on their icy beat,
And still the tambourines repeat,
"God looks down from His judgment seat,
'Good will on earth' is His message sweet.
O give, O give, so the poor may eat.