Elijah
Elijah—strong son of the Tishbite!—
So jealous for God and His might;
The friend of the brook and the raven—
The giant of caverns of Night;
When the fanes of Jehovah were broken,
And the blood of His people ran free,
Leapt out of the dark of the desert,
As a Shadow leaps up from the Sea!
And, behold you, the prophets of Baal
Were stricken with shame to their feet,
Because of the images harried
And hewn in the slippery street!
And, behold you, the cloud which he prayed for
Grew big on the coppery sky,
While a sound of the breaking of waters
And a wind of the harvest went by!
My brothers, who dwell in the sunfall,
Hath Elijah come back to the land,
With the wisdom of God on his forehead,
And the strength of the Lord in his hand?
To gird up his girdle about him,
And wait on the mountains again,
When the fathers are famished beneath him,
With prayers for the peace and the rain!
To turn to the cunning ones, quaking
With their trumpets and fictions of clay!
And break down the Curse that is breaking
The life in you, day after day!
For alas! for the burden of Nations—
Of the people away in the West,
With the faces that fade in the nightwatch:
And the eyes which are withered for rest!
Go, weep for the noise of the fighting—
For the riot, the roll, and the roar!
And the beauties at wait in the garden,
And the feet that will travel no more!
There is brother at battle with brother,
They are shaken, and scattered, and thinned,
And the strength of their sinews is flying
As the stubble flies up from the wind.
The tramp of the blood-baffled horses
Is heavy on hillock and lea;
But cover yourselves from the riders,
For their face is a blackness to see!
The dust and the smoke of their warring
Have draggled and blasted the corn;
They are hacking and hewing like madmen
Because of their sorrow and scorn.
Their sisters, their children, their mothers,
Are crying for bread in the street,
But they rush through the thick of the tempest
With a fire in the soles of their feet!
Yes, alas! for the burden of Nations—
Of the desolate cities of death,
Where the weary ones look from the towers,
And howl through the breaks of their breath?
Beholding the scoffers below them,
Who sit in the trenches and wait,
Through the days and the nights of the Winter,
Arrayed with their horrible hate!
And sick of the sight of the harlots
Dropped down from the sides of the ships,
With the gold that is stained with their Passion,
And the redness of lust on their lips.
My brothers, who faint for Elijah,
Will the terrible mantle not fall
On the shoulders of someone amongst you,
That ye weep with the face to the wall?
Ye sojourners now in the Sunfall,
Hath Elijah not come to the land,
With the wisdom of God on his forehead,
And the strength of the Lord in his hand?
So jealous for God and His might;
The friend of the brook and the raven—
The giant of caverns of Night;
When the fanes of Jehovah were broken,
And the blood of His people ran free,
Leapt out of the dark of the desert,
As a Shadow leaps up from the Sea!
And, behold you, the prophets of Baal
Were stricken with shame to their feet,
Because of the images harried
And hewn in the slippery street!
And, behold you, the cloud which he prayed for
Grew big on the coppery sky,
While a sound of the breaking of waters
And a wind of the harvest went by!
My brothers, who dwell in the sunfall,
Hath Elijah come back to the land,
With the wisdom of God on his forehead,
And the strength of the Lord in his hand?
To gird up his girdle about him,
And wait on the mountains again,
When the fathers are famished beneath him,
With prayers for the peace and the rain!
To turn to the cunning ones, quaking
With their trumpets and fictions of clay!
And break down the Curse that is breaking
The life in you, day after day!
For alas! for the burden of Nations—
Of the people away in the West,
With the faces that fade in the nightwatch:
And the eyes which are withered for rest!
Go, weep for the noise of the fighting—
For the riot, the roll, and the roar!
And the beauties at wait in the garden,
And the feet that will travel no more!
There is brother at battle with brother,
They are shaken, and scattered, and thinned,
And the strength of their sinews is flying
As the stubble flies up from the wind.
The tramp of the blood-baffled horses
Is heavy on hillock and lea;
But cover yourselves from the riders,
For their face is a blackness to see!
The dust and the smoke of their warring
Have draggled and blasted the corn;
They are hacking and hewing like madmen
Because of their sorrow and scorn.
Their sisters, their children, their mothers,
Are crying for bread in the street,
But they rush through the thick of the tempest
With a fire in the soles of their feet!
Yes, alas! for the burden of Nations—
Of the desolate cities of death,
Where the weary ones look from the towers,
And howl through the breaks of their breath?
Beholding the scoffers below them,
Who sit in the trenches and wait,
Through the days and the nights of the Winter,
Arrayed with their horrible hate!
And sick of the sight of the harlots
Dropped down from the sides of the ships,
With the gold that is stained with their Passion,
And the redness of lust on their lips.
My brothers, who faint for Elijah,
Will the terrible mantle not fall
On the shoulders of someone amongst you,
That ye weep with the face to the wall?
Ye sojourners now in the Sunfall,
Hath Elijah not come to the land,
With the wisdom of God on his forehead,
And the strength of the Lord in his hand?
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