THE DISTRESS IN LANCASHIRE by FREDERICK WILLIAM HENRY MYERS

How LONG, o Lord of sabaoth, how long?
wilt Thou for ever vex the earth with war?
for lo a nation riseth great and strong,
with peopled cities and with fields of corn,
rich fields of standing corn, fine flour of wheat,
and in their pride they boast: we will not fear,
we never shall be moved: and some time
their speech Thou sufferest, but when at length
Thou hast prepared Tophet deep and large
and piled it with brimstone and much wood;
then settest Thou Thine ensign on the hills,
Thy trump Thou blowest, and the peoples hear.
throw wide, throw wide thy forests, Lebanon,
lament and mourn, high place of Shigionoth,
for leanness falleth on thy palaces,
on all thine oaks and on thy cedars fire.

O mighty nations, latest hope of earth,
why could ye not in one accord for aye
work out your destinies thro' faith and fear?
or if ye needs must sever, and so close
ye cling, ye southern realms, to that stern law,
your iron law of master and of slave,
bloodless at least let such a parting be,
of friends and not of foemen! hear us cry,
oh hear us, from one source our blood we draw,
sheathe, sheathe your swords my kinsmen!
Yet indeed
tho' other tribes be rancorous, other lands
unkind, we must not leave our ancient way,
tho' many a voice be loud in many a hall,
and loud the clamour of new-fangled men,
preaching advantage, but indeed we know
a nobler mistress, and her name is Law.

So sometimes in a place of riotous youth,
of riotous youth unclean and foolish play,
grows one with few to mark him, pure of face,
well-born and gently nurtured, neither lost
in selfish leisure, nor with endless toil
neglecting for a guerdon of slight praise,
for paltry praise the chief concerns of man:
but more and more large grace descends from God,
and more and more his fellows hold to him;
and all the demons of the poisoned air,
Conceit, and Scorn, and foolish Heresy,
him when they look on, how he walks with Truth,
they harm him not, for Peace hath made him hers,
Peace at the end, and Joy, and fuller fame.

So hath this people grown, and ever held
such name among the nations: not for us
to tread the footsteps of eternal Rome,
high on the fallen necks of conquered kings:
nor yet to chaunt along our roaring ways
maronian echoes of the prince of song:
nay, not in these we glory, but to stand
among tumultuous nations steadfastly,
set for one purpose, patient to the end,
Christ in our hearts and in our borders peace.

Therefore we hold aloof and watch the strife,
therefore we suffer; and to happy ports
no longer do their wonted armaments
spread wide the silver of their sails from far:
hushed half our factories, and half our folk
cold in the cheerless highways want for bread.

There surely is no sorrow worse than this,
to waste in silence, seeing crafty hands
lose half their cunning, now that none will hire,
feeling strong limbs grow slacker, sober brains
fire with the restless flame of penury,
nor any hope remaining but slow death,
some short sad life and some ignoble end.
for he who going down to the sea in ships
among the tempests founders far away,
he hath at any rate one noble hour,
between strong winds and water rendering
a solemn spirit to the night and God:
and he who falleth as so many fall,
who in the eager van of armed hosts
shot painfully lies perishing alone,
even he with one great thought can soothe his soul,
one prayer for freedom and his father-land;
but whoso perisheth slowly day by day,
ghost of himself, spectator of his doom,
whereunto is he likened, or to what
can I compare him, save to that scape-goat
whom three days out into the wilderness
the seed of Abram sent to bear their sin:
but far thro' Edom strayed the bleater on,
by Ar and Nophah and by Nahaliel,
by Horeb and the heaps of Abarim,
unwitting, innocent, and sought in vain
old pastures; is there grass in Hazeroth,
or sweet fresh water in the salt dead sea?

But was she careless, England, of her sons?
not so, nor thus we know her; long ago
when Erin hungered, did not she supply?
yea when the frugal peoples of the east
thro' scarcity their old content forbore,
she sent, she succoured them, and not in vain
from far Benares and the plains of Ind
had ancient Ganges reared a hoary head,
to tell of wailing on his happy banks
by night, and corpses carried to the sea.
not so, nor thus we know her, but again
she sent, she succoured, none was found too great
to pity scarcities of meaner men,
and none so poor but from his penury
some mite he stole for mercy and for God.

A richer harvest hence, than when sometimes
relentless leaping fire hath caught and holds
the housed treasure of the merchant's toil;
and many a trader, trading never more,
is mad with ruin, but the careless crowd
at such a sight is drunken, as with wine;
for lo a fiery heat is in the air,
fierce heat in air and lurid light in heaven;
and down the silent river-reaches wide
those squandered argosies of precious oil,
new-fraught with death, float flaming to the sea.
a richer harvest hence, nor those alone
are blest who sow, nor those alone who reap;
but linked with kindly effort kindly thought
draws close the loving bonds of man with men.

Remember these, o Lord, when thou sometime
shalt visit with fierce wrath and flaming fire
this unrepentant people for their sin.
remember these, o Lord, for rarely now
cease we from serving Mammon; everywhere
false prophets have arisen who know not Thee,
wolves in sheep's clothing, spoilers of the fold:
to them we hearken; yea, tho' one should stand,
tho' one inspired stood in a sacred place
and spake bold words and prophesied the end,
we should not hear him; surely he would pipe
without our dancing; he would mourn to us
whereat we should not weep. and yet sometime
he in accomplished season should appear
wise with a certain meaning. such a fate
was his, the last of Titans, for to him,
for many times to him, nor once alone,
his mother Honour and his mother Earth,
in several names the one identity,
spake clearly of the sorrow that should come:
yea and he knew it, yea and long ago
hath he considered and contrived the end.

Yet not in our days, if Thou wilt, o Lord,
not in our sons' days let that reckoning be!
a little longer may Thy grace be given,
a little more Thy Spirit strive with men:
JAH of Jeshurun, be our Refuge still,
spread wide beneath us, Everlasting Arms:
yea, as for that stern priest by Chebar's stream,
in solemn vision and clear prophecy,
dry bones Thou didst inform, Great Power of God,
so come again from the four winds, o Breath,
and breathe upon these slain that they may live!

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