The Stars' Accusal

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

To stand--
A dust-speck, facing the infinitudes
Of Thine unfathomable dome, a night like this,--
To stand full-face to Thy High Majesties,
Thy myriad worlds in solemn watchfulness,--
Watching, watching, watching all below,
And man in all his wilfulness for woe!
--Dear Lord, one wonders that Thou bearest still
With man on whom Thou didst such grace bestow,
And with his wilful faculty for woe!

Those sleepless sentinels!    They may be worlds
All peopled like our own.    But, as I stand,
They are to me the myriad eyes of God,--
Watching, watching, watching all below,
And man in all his wilfulness for woe.
And then--to think
What those same piercing eyes look down upon
Elsewhere on this fair earth that Thou hast made!--
Watching, watching, watching all below,
And man in all his wilfulness for woe.

--On all the desolations he hath wrought,
--On all the passioned hatreds he hath taught,
--On all Thy great hopes he hath brought to nought;--
--Man rending man with ruthless bitterness,
--Blasting Thine image into nothingness,
--Hounding Thy innocents to awful deaths,
And worse than deaths!    Happy the dead, who sped
Before the torturers their lust had fed!
--On Thy Christ crucified afresh each day,
--On all the horrors of War's grim red way.
And ever, in Thy solemn midnight skies,
Those myriad, sleepless, vast accusing eyes,--
Watching, watching, watching all below,
And man in all his wilfulness for woe.

Dear Lord!--
When in our troubled hearts we ponder this,
We can but wonder at Thy wrath delayed,--
We can but wonder that Thy hand is stayed,--
We can but wonder at Thy sufferance
Of man, whom Thou in Thine own image made,
When he that image doth so sore degrade!

If Thou shouldst blot us out without a word,
Our stricken souls must say we had incurred
Just punishment.
Warnings we lacked not, warnings oft and clear,
But in our arrogance we gave no ear
To Thine admonishment.
And yet,--and yet!    O Lord, we humbly pray,--
Put back again Thy righteous Judgment Day!
Have patience with us yet a while, until
Through these our sufferings we learn Thy Will.

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham)

William Arthur Dunkerley, better known by his pen name John Oxenham, was an English journalist, novelist, and poet. He was a prolific writer in the early 20th century, producing a wide range of literary works including poetry, hymns, and novels. His works often reflected Christian themes and were popular during his time. Dunkerley also contributed to the establishment of the Boys' Brigade, a notable youth organization in the UK. His legacy includes a significant contribution to both literature and social causes.

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham)

Thank God For Peace!

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham), Simple Poetry

The Winnowing

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham), Simple Poetry

Blinded!

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham), Simple Poetry

Seeds

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham), Simple Poetry

English

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Policeman X

"Shall it be Peace?
A voice within me cried and would not cease,--
'One man could do it if he would but dare.'"
(From "Policeman X" in "Bees in Amber.")


He did not dare!
His swelling pride laid wait
On opportunity, then dropped the mask
And tempted Fate, cast loaded dice,--and lost;
Nor recked the cost of losing.

"Their souls are mine.
Their lives were in thy hand;--
Of thee I do require them!"

The Voice, so stern and sad, thrilled my heart's core
And shook me where I stood.
Sharper than sharpest sword, it fell on him
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With eyes that burned, impatient to be gone.

"The fetor of thy grim burnt offerings
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Watchman! What Of The Night?

Watchman!    What of the night?
No light we see,--
Our souls are bruised and sickened with the sight
Of this foul crime against humanity.
The Ways are dark----
            "I SEE THE MORNING LIGHT!"

--The Ways are dark;
Faith folds her wings; and Hope, in piteous plight,
Has dimmed her radiant lamp to feeblest spark.
Love bleeding lies----
            "I SEE THE MORNING LIGHT!"

--Love bleeding lies,
Struck down by this grim fury of despight,
Which once again her Master crucifies.
He dies again----
            "I SEE THE MORNING LIGHT!"

--He dies again,
By evil slain!    Who died for man's respite
By man's insensate rage again is slain.
O woful sight!----
            "I SEE THE MORNING LIGHT!

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William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham)

Supplication

For He knoweth our frame, He remembereth that we are dust. - PSALM CIII. 14.


    Oh Lord, when all our bones are thrust
        Beyond the gaze of all but Thine;
    And these blaspheming tongues are dust
        Which babbled of Thy name divine,
    How helpless then to carp or rail
        Against the canons of Thy word;
    Wilt Thou, when thus our spirits fail,
    Have mercy, Lord?

    Here from this ebon speck that floats
        As but a mote within Thine eye,
    Vain sneers and curses from our throats
        Rise to the vault of Thy fair sky:
    Yet when this world of ours is still
        Of this all-wondering, tortured horde,
    And none is left for Thee to kill -
    Have mercy, Lord!

    Thou knowest that our...

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A Little Te Deum For These Times

We thank Thee, Lord,
For mercies manifold in these dark days;--
For Heart of Grace that would not suffer wrong;
For all the stirrings in the dead dry bones;
For bold self-steeling to the times' dread needs;
For every sacrifice of self to Thee;
For ease and wealth and life so freely given;
For Thy deep sounding of the hearts of men;
For Thy great opening of the hearts of men;
For Thy close-knitting of the hearts of men;
For all who sprang to answer the great call;
For their high courage and self-sacrifice;
For their endurance under deadly stress;
For all the unknown heroes who have died
To keep the land inviolate and free;
For all who come back from the Gates of Death;
For all who pass to larger life with Thee,
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William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham)

Darkness And Light

There is darkness still, gross darkness, Lord,
On this fair earth of Thine.
There are prisoners still in the prison-house,
Where never a light doth shine.
There are doors still bolted against Thee,
There are faces set like a wall;
And over them all the Shadow of Death
Hangs like a pall.
Do you hear the voices calling,
Out there in the black of the night?
Do you hear the sobs of the women,
Who are barred from the blessed light?
And the children,--the little children,--
Do you hear their pitiful cry?
O brothers, we must seek them,
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Spread the Light! Spread the Light!
Till earth's remotest bounds have heard
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The Singing Man

I

He sang above the vineyards of the world.
    And after him the vines with woven hands
Clambered and clung, and everywhere unfurled
    Triumphing green above the barren lands;
Till high as gardens grow, he climbed, he stood,
    Sun-crowned with life and strength, and singing toil,
And looked upon his work; and it was good:
                The corn, the wine, the oil.

He sang above the noon. The topmost cleft
    That grudged him footing on the mountain scars
He planted and despaired not; till he left
    His vines soft breathing to the host of stars.
He wrought, he tilled; and even as he sang,
    The creatures of his planting laughed to scorn
The ancient threat of deserts where there sprang
                The wine, the oil, the corn!

Josephine Preston Peabody