XI.

The black-eyed Creole kept his eyes Turned to the door, as eyes might turn To see the holy embers burn Some sin away at sacrifice.

Full dawn! but yet he knew no dawn, Nor song of bird, nor bird on wing, Nor breath of rose, nor anything Her fair face lifted not upon.

And yet he taller stood with morn; His bright eyes, brighter than before, Burned fast against that fastened door, His proud lips lifting up with scorn,—

With lofty, silent scorn for one Who all night long had plead and plead, With none to witness but the dead How he for gold must be undone.

Oh, ye who feed a greed for gold, And barter truth, and trade sweet youth For cold hard gold, behold, behold! Behold this man! behold this truth!

Why, what is there in all God's plan Of vast creation, high or low, By sea or land, by sun or snow, So mean, so miserly as man?

Lo, earth and heaven all let go Their garnered riches, year by year! The treasures of the trackless snow, Ah, hast thou seen how very dear?

The wide earth gives, gives golden grain, Gives fruits of gold, gives all, gives all! Hold forth your hand, and these shall fall In your full palm as free as rain.

Yea, earth is generous. The trees Strip nude as birth-time without fear, And their reward is year by year To feel their fulness but increase.

The law of Nature is to give, To give, to give! and to rejoice In giving with a generous voice, And so trust God and truly live.

But see this miser at the last,— This man who loves, grasps hold of gold, Who grasps it with such eager hold, To hold forever hard and fast:

As if to hold what God lets go; As if to hold, while all around Lets go, and drops upon the ground All things as generous as snow.

Let go your greedy hold, I say! Let go your hold! Do not refuse ‘ Till death comes by and shakes you loose, And sends you shamed upon your way.

What if the sun should keep his gold? The rich moon lock her silver up? What if the gold-clad buttercup Became a miser, mean and old?

Ah, me! the coffins are so true In all accounts, the shrouds so thin, That down there you might sew and sew, Nor ever sew one pocket in.

And all that you can hold of lands Down there, below the grass, down there, Will only be that little share You hold in your two dust-full hands.