The Years Between

(With mine! With mine!)
'Is it well with the child, is it well?'
The waiting mother prayed.
'For I know not how he fell,
And I know not where he is laid.'

A Star stood forth in Heaven,
The watchers ran to see
The Sign of the Promise given —
'But there comes no sign to me.
(To me! To me!)
'My child died in the dark.
Is it well with the child, is it well?
There was none to tend him or mark,
And I know not how he fell.'

The Cross was raised on high;
The Mother grieved beside —
'But the Mother saw Him die
And took Him when He died.
(He died! He died!)
'Seemly and undefiled
His burial-place was made —
Is it well, is it well with the child?
For I know not where he is laid.'

On the dawning of Easter Day
Comes Mary Magdalene;
But the Stone was rolled away,
And the Body was not within —
(Within! Within!)
'Ah, who will answer my word?'
The broken mother prayed.
'They have taken away my Lord,
And I know not where He is laid.'

The Star stands forth in Heaven.
The watchers watch in vain
For a Sign of the Promise given
Of peace on Earth again —
(Again! Again!)
'But I know for Whom he fell' —
The steadfast mother smiled
'Is it well with the child – is it well?
It is well – it is well with the child!'

EN-DOR

'Behold there is a woman that hath a familiar spirit at En-dor'

1 Samuel XXVIII 7

The road to En-dor is easy to tread
For Mother or yearning Wife.
There, it is sure, we shall meet our Dead
As they were even in life.
Earth has not dreamed of the blessing in store
For desolate hearts on the road to En-dor.

Whispers shall comfort us out of the dark —
Hands – ah God! – that we knew!
Visions and voices – look and heark! —
Shall prove that our tale is true,
And that those who have passed to the further shore
May be hailed – at a price – on the road to En-dor.

But they are so deep in their new eclipse
Nothing they say can reach,
Unless it be uttered by alien lips
And framed in a stranger's speech.
The son must send word to the mother that bore,
Through an hireling's mouth. 'Tis the rule of En-dor.

And not for nothing these gifts are shown
By such as delight our dead.
They must twitch and stiffen and slaver a groan
Ere the eyes are set in the head,
And the voice from the belly begins. Therefore
We pay them a wage where they ply at En-dor.

Even so, we have need of faith
And patience to follow the clue.
Often, at first, what the dear one saith
Is babble, or jest, or untrue.
(Lying spirits perplex us sore
Till our loves – and our lives – are well known at En-dor)…

Oh the road to En-dor is the oldest road
And the craziest road of all!
Straight it runs to the Witch's abode,
As it did in the days of Saul,
And nothing has changed of the sorrow in store
For such as go down on the road to En-dor!

A RECANTATION

(TO LYDE OF THE MUSIC HALLS)

What boots it on the Gods to call?
Since, answered or unheard,