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)

Prince Of Peace

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham), Simple Poetry

Evening Brings Us Home

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham), Simple Poetry

The High Things

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham), Simple Poetry

Lonely Brother

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham), Simple Poetry

English

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"Their souls are mine.
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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
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--The Ways are dark;
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Love bleeding lies----
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Supplication

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


    Oh Lord, when all our bones are thrust
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    Here from this ebon speck that floats
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A Little Te Deum For These Times

We thank Thee, Lord,
For mercies manifold in these dark days;--
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Darkness And Light

There is darkness still, gross darkness, Lord,
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There are doors still bolted against Thee,
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The Singing Man

I

He sang above the vineyards of the world.
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Till high as gardens grow, he climbed, he stood,
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He sang above the noon. The topmost cleft
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He wrought, he tilled; and even as he sang,
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Josephine Preston Peabody