Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, INASMUCH AS YE DID NOT ..., by EDITH BLAND NESBIT


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

INASMUCH AS YE DID NOT ..., by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: If christ should come to london
Last Line: Or till we rise from the dead!
Alternate Author Name(s): Nesbit, E.; Bland, Mrs. Hubert
Subject(s): Socialism


IF Christ should come to London,
Come to London to-day,
He would not go to the West End,
He would come down our way.
He'd talk with the children dancing
To the organ out in the street,
And say He was their big Brother,
And give them something to eat.
He wouldn't go to the mansions
Where the charitable live,
He'd come to the tenement houses
Where we ain't got nothing to give;
He'd come so kind and so homely
And treat us to beer and bread,
And tell us how we ought to behave;
And we would mind what He said.
In the bright warm West End churches
They sing and preach and pray;
They call us 'Beloved Brethren!'
But they do not act that way.
And when He come to the church door,
He'd call out bold and free:
'You stop that preaching and praying
And show what you've done for Me.'
Then they'd say 'Oh, Lord, we have given
To the poor both blankets and tracts,
And we've tried to make them sober,
And we've tried to teach them facts.
But they will sneak round to the drink-shop;
They pawn the blankets for beer;
And we find them very ungrateful,
But still we persevere.'
Then He would say 'I told you
The time I was here before
That you were all of you brothers,
All you, that I suffered for.
I won't go into your churches,
I'll stop in the sun outside;
You bring out the men, your brothers,
The men for whom I died!'
Out of our lousy lodgings,
From arches and doorways about,
They'd have to do what He told them,
They'd have to call us out;
Millions and millions and millions,
Thick and crawling like flies,
We should creep out to the sunshine
And not be afraid of His eyes.
He'd see what God's image looks like,
When men have dealt with the same,
Wrinkled with work that is never done,
Swollen and dirty with shame;
He'd see on the children's foreheads
The branded gutter-sign,
That marks the girls to be harlots,
That dooms the boys to be swine.
Then He'd say 'What's the good of your churches,
When these have nowhere to sleep?
How can I hear your praying
When they are cursing so deep?
I gave My blood and My body
That all should have bread and wine;
And you have taken your share, -- and theirs --
Of these good gifts of Mine.'
Then some of the rich would be sorry,
And all would be very scared,
And they'd say 'But we never knew, Lord!'
And He'd say 'Ye never cared!'
And some would be sick and shameful
Because they'd know that they knew,
But the best would say 'We were wrong, Lord:
Tell us what we can do!'
I think He'd be sitting, likely,
For some one 'ud bring Him a chair,
With a common kid cuddled up on His knee,
And the common sun on His hair;
And they'd be standing before Him,
And He'd say 'You know, and you knew;
You ought to work for your brothers,
The same as I worked for you.
'For, since you're all of you brothers,
It's clear as the blessed sun
That each must work for the others,
Not thousands work for one.
And the ones that have lived bone-idle,
If they want Me to hear them pray,
Let them go and work for their livings
The only honest way!
'I've got nothing new to tell you,
It's just what I always said;
But you've built their bones into churches
And stolen their wine and bread.
You, with My name on your forehead,
Liar and traitor, and knave,
You have lived on the death of your brothers,
These, whom I died to save!'
I wish He would come and say it --
Perhaps they'd believe it then,
And work like men for their livings
And let us work, like men.
Brothers! They'll never believe it,
The lie on their lips is red . . .
They'll never believe till He comes again
Or till We rise from the dead!










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