Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE HOUSE OF PAIN, by AMOS RUSSEL WELLS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE HOUSE OF PAIN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: White faces, o my sisters! White faces, o my brothers!
Last Line: Wait and wait and suffer, still in the house of pain.
Subject(s): Pain; Suffering; Misery


White faces, O my sisters! White faces, O my brothers!
We who loathe the House of Pain a long and bitter while,
Well we know the cruel stabs that morphine briefly smothers,
Well we know the subtle aches that slay the brightest smile.

Some of us came crashing here in one red, awful minute;
Some of us crept shrinkingly, reluctant yard on yard;
Some have left the dreary House, and hardly were they in it;
Some have grown cemented here, all vitreous and hard.

None of us came willing here, oh, none of us came willing;
All of us, with all our hearts, we hate the House of Pain;
Hate it to the point of blows and to the point of killing;
All of us would wrench away nor see it once again.

And yet, O drawn white faces! we hear men's witless droning,
Hear them prate of lessons, of warnings worn to shreds,
Hear them hint of good from ill, talk of pain's atoning,
Draw their pretty parables -- and leave us on our beds.

Weakly we are silent, or yield a weak assenting:
To our hearts the House of Pain is bad and only bad,
Savage, torturing, unwise, unwearied, unrelenting,
Crushing down and crushing down, infinitely sad.

Could we leave the House of Pain, pitiful white faces,
Find ourselves enfranchised to but one day of cheer,
Leap a day and sing a day in God's blest sunny places,
We should learn more lessons than endless ages here.

Men have made the House of Pain, built it of their follies,
Heavy stone on heavy stone through darkling lives on lives;
Built it of their ignorance, their hates and melancholies;
Built it of the fear that shrinks and of the greed that thrives.

God has made the meadows, and God has made the mountains,
God has made the mystery and marvel of the sky;
God has charged with springing health the air, the sea, the fountains,
God has crammed with ecstasies all the birds that fly.

God built not the House of Pain, not a course or corner,
Not the least grim fragment of the mortar in its walls;
God is strength and perfectness, the Gladsome, the Adorner;
God abhors the House of Pain and wearies till it falls.

Tear it down, oh, tear it down, men who sinned to build it!
Tear the last gray granite from its fastenings of woe,
Free the sad white faces that age on age have filled it,
Leave it all a crumbling heap where silent lizards go.

White faces, O white faces, it will not be tomorrow;
Still for us the House of Pain a weary, weary while,
Still for us the racking fear and still the hopeless sorrow,
Still for us the agonies that torture and defile.

But Health is moving onward, and teaching, teaching, teaching;
Some one here is listening, and some one listening there;
Kindly she, and patient, and tenderly beseeching;
Ah, her ways are pleasant and wonderfully fair!

Some day, not in our day, she will have won her legions;
Some day, not in our day, she will begin to reign.
Pray, O poor white faces, and watch the brightening regions;
Wait and wait and suffer, still in the House of Pain.





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