Turn to dance before the Ark!
When the cup's last liquor slips
Through the brain-worn cripple's lips,
Ho! 'tis time to pray and mend,
Sure of pardon in the end.
First God's image you outwear,
Live the beast within you bare,
Then to Mercy cry your needs,
Seeking God—as invalids!
So, His Kingdom's overthrown.
What should He with souls effete
Grovelling at His mercy-seat?
Said He not that then alone
When your lifeblood pulses tense,
Through all veins of soul and sense,
Ye His kingdom shall inherit?
Children ye must be to share it;
No man hobbles through its gate.
Come then, ye whose cheek is rife
With the bloom of childhood yet
To the greater Church of Life!
The Mayor.
Open it then!
The Multitude.
[Crying out as in anguish.]
No! Not this!
Brand.
It has neither mark nor bound,
But its floor the green earth is,
Mead and mountain, sea and sound;
And the overarching sky
Is its only canopy.
There shall all thy work be wrought
