American muse, whose strong and diverse heart
So many men have tried to understand
But only made it smaller with their art,
Because you are as various as your land,
As mountainous-deep, as flowered with blue rivers,
Thirsty with deserts, buried under snows,
As native as the shape of Navajo quivers,
And native, too, as the sea-voyaged rose.
American poet, short story writer, novelist (1898–1943)
He brings man's freedom in his hands, Not as a coin that may be spent or lost But as a living fire within the heart, Never quite quenched — because he brings to all, The thought, the wish, the dream of brotherhood, Never and never to be wholly lost, The water and the bread of the oppressed, The stay and succor of the resolute, The harness of the valiant and the brave, The new word that has changed the shaken world. And, though he die, his word shall grow like wheat And every time a child is born, In pain and love and freedom hardly won, Born and gone forth to help and aid mankind, There will be women with a right to say "Gloria, gloria in excelsis deo! A child is born!"
We are the earth his word must sow like wheat And, if it finds no earth, it cannot grow. We are his earth, the mortal and the dying, Led by no star — the sullen and the slut, The thief, the selfish man, the barren woman, Who have betrayed him once and will betray him, Forget his words, be great a moment's space Under the strokes of chance, And then sink back into our small affairs. And yet, unless we go, his message fails.
I see that I've said something you don't like, Something uncouth and bold and terrifying, And yet, I'll tell you this: It won't be till each one of us is willing, Not you, not me, but every one of us, To hang upon a cross for every man Who suffers, starves and dies, Fight his sore battles as they were our own, And help him from the darkness and the mire, That there will be no crosses and no tyrants, No Herods and no slaves.
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Life is not lost by dying! Life is lost Minute by minute, day by dragging day, In all the thousand, small, uncaring ways, The smooth appeasing compromises of time, Which are King Herod and King Herod's men, Always and always. Life can be Lost without vision but not lost by death, Lost by not caring, willing, going on Beyond the ragged edge of fortitude To something more — something no man has ever seen. You who love money, you who love yourself, You who love bitterness, and I who loved and lost and thought I could not love again, And all the people of this little town, Rise up! The loves we had were not enough. Something is loosed to change the shaken world, And with it we must change!
God pity us indeed, for we are human, And do not always see The vision when it comes, the shining change, Or, if we see it, do not follow it, Because it is too hard, too strange, too new, Too unbelievable, too difficult, Warring too much with common, easy ways, And now I know this, standing in this light, Who have been half alive these many years, Brooding on my own sorrow, my own pain, Saying "I am a barren bough. Expect Nor fruit nor blossom from a barren bough."
I am not tired. I am expectant as a runner is Before a race, a child before a feast day, A woman at the gates of life and death, Expectant for us all, for all of us Who live and suffer on this little earth With such small brotherhood. Something begins. Something is full of change and sparkling stars. Something is loosed that changes all the world.
I'm waiting. … For something new and strange, Something I've dreamt about in some deep sleep, Truer than any waking, Heard about, long ago, so long ago, In sunshine and the summer grass of childhood, When the sky seems so near. I do not know its shape, its will, its purpose And yet all day its will has been upon me, More real than any voice I ever heard, More real than yours or mine or our dead child's, More real than all the voices there upstairs, Brawling above their cups, more real than light. And there is light in it and fire and peace, Newness of heart and strangeness like a sword, And all my body trembles under it, And yet I do not know.
Outcasts of war, misfits, rebellious souls, Seekers of some vague kingdom in the stars — They hide out in the hills and stir up trouble, Call themselves prophets, too, and prophesy That something new is coming to the world, The Lord knows what! <p> Well, it's a long time coming, And, meanwhile, we're the wheat between the stones.
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I'm your narrator. It's my task to say Just where and how things happen in our play, Set the bare stage with words instead of props And keep on talking till the curtain drops. … It's an old task — old as the human heart, Old as those bygone players and their art Who, in old days when faith was nearer earth, Played out the mystery of Jesus' birth In hall or village green or market square For all who chose to come and see them there, And, if they knew that King Herod, in his crown, Was really Wat, the cobbler of the town, And Tom, the fool, played Abraham the Wise, They did not care. They saw with other eyes. The story was their own — not far away, As real as if it happened yesterday, Full of all awe and wonder yet so near, A marvelous thing that could have happened here In their own town — a star that could have blazed On their own shepherds, leaving them amazed, Frightened and questioning and following still To the bare stable — and the miracle.
Our earth is but a small star in the great universe. Yet of it we can make, if we choose, a planet unvexed by war, untroubled by hunger or fear, undivided by senseless distinctions of race, color or theory. Grant us that courage and foreseeing to begin this task today that our children and our children's children may be proud of the name of man. The spirit of man has awakened and the soul of man has gone forth. Grant us the wisdom and the vision to comprehend the greatness of man's spirit, that suffers and endures so hugely for a goal beyond his own brief span. Grant us honor for our dead who died in the faith, honor for our living who work and strive for the faith, redemption and security for all captive lands and peoples. Grant us patience with the deluded and pity for the betrayed. And grant us the skill and valor that shall cleanse the world of oppression and the old base doctrine that the strong must eat the weak because they are strong. Yet most of all grant us brotherhood, not only for this day but for all our years — a brotherhood not of words but of acts and deeds. We are all of us children of earth — grant us that simple knowledge. If our brothers are oppressed, then we are oppressed. If they hunger, we hunger. If their freedom is taken away, our freedom is not secure. Grant us a common faith that man shall know bread and peace — that he shall know justice and righteousness, freedom and security, an equal opportunity and an equal chance to do his best, not only in our own lands, but throughout the world. And in that faith let us march toward the clean world our hands can make. Amen.
God of the free, we pledge our hearts and lives today to the cause of all free mankind. Grant us victory over the tyrants who would enslave all free men and nations. Grant us faith and understanding to cherish all those who fight for freedom as if they were our brothers. Grant us brotherhood in hope and union, not only for the space of this bitter war, but for the days to come which shall and must unite all the children of earth.