THE MARCH OF THE BLACK MOUNTAIN 1913

     
     
           What will there be to remember
       Of us in the days to be?
     Whose faith was a trodden ember
       And even our doubt not free;
     Parliaments built of paper,
       And the soft swords of gold
     That twist like a waxen taper
       In the weak aggressor's hold;
     A hush around Hunger, slaying
       A city of serfs unfed;
     What shall we leave for a saying
       To praise us when we are dead?
     But men shall remember the Mountain
       That broke its forest chains,
     And men shall remember the Mountain
       When it arches against the plains:
     And christen their children from it
       And season and ship and street,
     When the Mountain came to Mahomet
       And looked small before his feet.
           His head was as high as the crescent
       Of the moon that seemed his crown,
     And on glory of past and present
       The light of his eyes looked down;
     One hand went out to the morning
       Over Brahmin and Buddhist slain,
     And one to the West in scorning
       To point at the scars of Spain;
     One foot on the hills for warden
       By the little Mountain trod;
     And one was in a garden
       And stood on the grave of God.
     But men shall remember the Mountain,
       Though it fall down like a tree,
     They shall see the sign of the Mountain
       Faith cast into the sea;
     Though the crooked swords overcome it
       And the Crooked Moon ride free,
     When the Mountain comes to Mahomet
       It has more life than he.
           But what will there be to remember
       Or what will there be to see—
     Though our towns through a long November
       Abide to the end and be?
     Strength of slave and mechanic
       Whose iron is ruled by gold,
     Peace of immortal panic,
       Love that is hate grown cold—
     Are these a bribe or a warning
       That we turn not to the sun,
     Nor look on the lands of morning
       Where deeds at last are done?
     Where men shall remember the Mountain
       When truth forgets the plain—
     And walk in the way of the Mountain
       That did not fail in vain;
     Death and eclipse and comet,
       Thunder and seals that rend:
     When the Mountain came to Mahomet;
       Because it was the end.