Classic Poem

Oh that my spirit could rise and go
Away to the wilds, and sing
The simple songs that my heart o'er flows,
Regardless of Priest of King.

Oh that to-day I could rise and find
Foot rest in a quiet cave,
As free to sing as the witless wind,
And drink in the peace I crave.

The mind in me will not line or scan
With margins of class or creed,
And sick am I with the pride of man,
And sin of the selfish greed.

The tithes and taxes and toll of years
With lamings from toil God wot
Bring sleeping panic and waking fears
That Prelate and Priest know not.

I may not pray, " Long live the King, "
If hunger the poor out pace,
Nor fasting prayers to Prelate bring
If the red wine tints his face.

The poor go empty from these, for they
Of Christ or His cult are not,
Would they had more of His kindly way,
And less of the selfish sot.

Oh that to-day I might rise and go
Away to the hills and sing,
What nature telleth to who would know:
That God is High Priest and King.