To carp with sordid tradesmen face to face;

No more we hear the Sinaian thunders roll,

Or Jesus preaching in the market-place.

The money-changers flaunt their silks and gold;

Within the Temple gates they ply their trade,

Forgetful of the Voice that cried of old:

"A den of thieves my Father's house is made!"

[65]

[65]

A MOTHER TO THE SEA.

You are blue, you are blue like the sky,

Cruel and cold and blue,

And I turn from you, voiceless sea,

To a sky that is voiceless, too.

Upward the vast blue arch,

Downward the blue abyss,

With a line of foam where your lips

Meet in a passionless kiss.

But the silence is breaking my heart,

And tears cannot comfort me

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