Gerald Massey Poet Prophet and Mistic

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Digitized by the Internet Archivein 2010 with funding from

University of British Columbia Library


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GERALD MASSEY.


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ERALD MASSEY: POET,PROPHET AND MYSTIC.

BY B. O. FLOWER, WITHILLUSTRATIONS BYLAURA LEE.

THE ARENA PUBLISHINGCO., BOSTON, MASS.MDCCCXCV.


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Cop^riabteb b^ B. Q. fflowet*XS95.


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Tl:\is booK is inscribed to rr^y ^ife,HHTTIE C. FLOWER.

'Wtiose r\ot)le life, and fin, in-spiring tl:\oilgt[t, l:\aVe been ^constant aid in all I l^aveendeavored to accorn-

plist\ for freedorn,justice and trutl:\.


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WORKS BY B. 0. FLOWER.Civilization's Inferno; or, Studies in the

Social Cellar. Cloth, . . . . $i.oo

The New Time : A Plea for the Union ofthe Moral Forces for Freedom and Pro-gress. Cloth, i.oo

Lessons Learned from Other Lives : A Bookof Short Biographies for Young People.Cloth, - - I.OO

Gerald Massey : Poet, Prophet and Mystic.(Illustrated.) Cloth, .... i.oo


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Intro&uctorp Mor&HIS little work briefly discusses

the life and work of one of Eng-land's poets of the people, who

deserves far more from the hands of thosewho love justice, freedom and truth than hehas received. I have purposely quoted veryfreely from the writings of Mr. Massey,because I am persuaded that, in order toknow the true self or the spiritual ego ofan individual, we must see his soul in action,see him battling with injustice or error,when the profound depths of his being arestirred by some high and saving truth ; forthen is revealed the spirit, unconsciousfor the moment of the fetters of environ-ment or the trammels of artificiality whichsurround us all. Then, the curtain is


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raised and we catch a glimpse of the holiestof holies of the human soul. This revela-tion of the higher self is very marked inthe noblest lines of a true poet. I havehad a further purpose in view in thusintroducing the poet through his ownwords. I desired to bring the high, finethought of Gerald Massey to the attentionof men and women of conviction, believingthat his noble ideals, his passionate appealsfor justice, his prophetic glimpse of thecoming day, would serve to awaken somesleeping souls, while they would strengthenothers in their purpose to consecrate life'sbest endeavors to the cause of earth'smiserables and to the diffusion of light.

In the third chapter I have indicatedsome striking points of resemblance be-tween the writings of Massey and Whittier.The former is passionately in love with thebeauty in common life. He is a tirelessreformer, hating injustice more than he


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loves life, and he possesses a spiritual in-sight equalled by few modern poets.These also are marked characteristics ofour New England Quaker poet. The titlespoet, prophet and seer are as applicable tothe one as to the other, although Mr.Massey possesses less intuitional perceptionthan Whittier. What he lacks here, how-ever, is balanced by his passion for truth,which has led him to search profoundly forhints and facts that demonstrate the -reality of another life.

Mr. Massey has been too fearless and too -npersistent a reformer to be appreciated in ;his time, but his words and worth will be ftreasured in the brighter day, when we Ishall see dawning a social order which shall jend enforced '' slavery for man, prostitution^for woman, and ignorance for the child."As a poet of the common life who has

revealed new beauties within and withoutthe homes of the humble, I admire him

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as a fearless truth-seeker who has dared toincur the scoffs and sneers of convention-alism and the savage hate of ignorance,bigotry and fanaticism in the cause oftruth, I honor him ; and because he hasbeen a true prophet of freedom, fraternityand justice, ever loyal to the interest of theoppressed, I love him. Mr. Massey's facehas been steadfastly set toward the morn-ing; his thoughts are luminous with thelight of the coming age ; hence it is notsurprising that he has disturbed the batsand owls, or enraged the serpents andtigers in society, who instinctively shrinkfrom the holy candor of truth or the sweetreasonableness of justice.

B. 0. Flower.Boston, January, 1895.

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I. Zbc poet anb tbe ni>amHERE are in our midst many

poets who attract small atten-tion from conventional critics,

as they have studiously avoided the praiseof conservatism, choosing the byways of dutyin preference to the highway of popularity,and always living up to their highest convic-tion of right. The poor, the oppressed, andthe sorrowing have been their special charge.Their lives have been characterized bysimplicity, and their words and deeds haveinspired unnumbered struggling souls withlofty ideals and nobler conceptions of life.While the wreath of fame has been placedby conservatism on the brows of manywhose empty rhymes have conformed tothe dilettante standard of "art for art's


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sake," these poets have quietly sung cour-age, hope and love into the hearts of thepeople, luring them unconsciously to higheraltitudes of spirituality. They have at alltimes proclaimed the noble altruism of liv-ing for others the song of the to-morrowof civilization. Amid the ambitions andjealousies of life, the strife for fame andgold, they are not found ; but where tyrannymocks freedom and the poor cry for justice,their words ring clear and strong. They arethe people's saviours, for they help themultitudes into the light of truth and upthe path of noble endeavor.Among this coterie of chosen sons of

God, whose unpurchasable love of justiceand holy candor of soul have rendered itimpossible for them to yield to the sirenvoices of conventionalism, no name is en-titled to a more honored place than that ofGerald Massey the poet-prophet of ourday, who has stood for truth and right, while


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less royal souls have sold their heaven-givenbirthright for earth's pottage. Had Mr.Massey chosen to devote his rare talent tothe humors and dictates of conventionalism,instead of offending the dilettante by boldlypleading the cause of the oppressed ; hadhe devoted his gifts to the creation of pop-ular lyrics, instead of compelling his read-ers to think upon the wrongs of those whosuffer through man's inhumanity to man,he would not have remained comparativelyobscure and been compelled to eat thebread of poverty. For few men of ourcentury have received higher praise fromleading literary critics than this poet of thepeople. And had wealth been able to flat-ter him into a fawning sycophant he wouldhave become the idol of a gay, frivolousand amusement-loving class who imaginethey are cultured.

But Gerald Massey was a man before hewas a poet. His love for justice was


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greater than his desire for the eider downof luxury or the chaplet of fame. He was

]the son of a poor man. He himself had ^tasted the bitterness of want. He pos-sessed the courage of an Elijah and thespirit of an Isaiah. He preferred to reflectthe best in his soul and devote his divinegift to the service of justice, rather thanconform to the vicious standards whichconventionalism demands as the price ofpopularity and preferment. He cham-pioned the cause of the weak, the poorand those whose lives are made bitter byhaving to bear heavier burdens than right-fully belong to them.Now, because of this magnificient loyalty

to justice and human rights, because hedared to assail the injustice of entrenchedplutocracy and the hypocrisy of creedalreligion, he has been denied the justice dueto his fine poetic talent and his superbmanhood. But though ignored, in the


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main, by conservatism, he lias won thehearts of millions who love, suffer andwait. And I believe the future will placehim high in the pantheon of England'spoets, because he has voiced the real spiritof the on-coming civilization in a truer andbraver way than many contemporaries whoare basking in popular favor. The follow-ing extracts from his writings reflect thedream ever present in the poet's mind.They may be said to contain the keynoteof his creed :

" The first duty of men who have to dieis to learn how to live, so as to leave theworld, or something in it, a little betterthan they found it. Our future life mustbe the natural outcome of this : the root ofthe whole matter is in this life."We hear the cry for bread with plenty smiling all

aroundHill and valley in their bounty blush for man with

fruitage crowned,


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What a merry world it might be, opulent for alland aye,

With its lands that ask for labor, and its wealththat wastes away

This world is full of beauty, as other worldsabove ;

And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love.

The leaf-tongues of the forest, and the flower-lipsof the sod,

The happy birds that hymn their raptures in theear of God,

The summer wind that bringeth music over landand sea,

Have each a voice that singeth this sweet songof songs to me

"This world is full of beauty, as other worldsabove ;

And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love."

If faith, and hope, and kindness passed, as coin,'twixt heart and heart,

Up through the eye's tear-blindness, how the suddensoul should start

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The dreary, dim and desolate should wear a sunnybloom,

And love should spring from buried hate, likeflowers from winter's tomb.

This world is full of beauty, as other worldsabove


Were truth our uttered language, spirits might talkwith men,

And God-illumined earth should see the GoldenAge again

The burthened heart should soar in mirth likemorn's young prophet-lark,

And misery's last tear wept on earth quench hell'slast cunning spark

This world is full of beauty, as other worldsabove


f^ Gerald Massey was born in Hertfordshire,England, in 1828. His father was ex-tremely poor, and Gerald was compelled atan early age to enter a factory, and thus


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help support a family which knew all thebitterness of biting poverty. Many yearsof his early life were spent in straw plait-ing. At eight he was working twelvehours a day in a silk manufactory, andreceiving from nine pence to oneshilling and sixpence a week. Verypathetic is the poet's description of the bit-ter struggle with poverty which markedhis early boyhood. Still, without thisexperience it is doubtful if the world wouldhave been enriched by his clarion cries forjustice or the inspiring songs of hope andcourage which will be sung and resunguntil the wealth producer is emancipatedand civilization learns her supreme lesson

that Humanity is one.John Ruskin, who has ever seemed to takea special interest in Gerald Massey, on oneoccasion wrote the poet " Your educationwas a terrible one, but mine was far worse ;the one having suffered the bitterness of pov-


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erty, the other having been the pamperedchild of wealth. Very few books cameinto the possession of the poor poet boy,and his time was so taken up that he hadfew moments for the luxury of readmg.He received no instruction save that ob-tained in a penny school, but his passion-ate longing for knowledge led him to manyfountains of truth which duller mindswould never have discerned. The book ofnature attracted his eye, her smile wooedhim, her voice charmed his ear ; his mindunconsciously drank deeply of her truths.Like many another poor boy, Mr. Masseylearned the value of knowledge. His mindbecame a storehouse for truth, rather thana sieve, and his passion for the acquisitionof facts, which was awakened before neces-sity compelled him to enter the rank of thechild slaves of factory life, grew strongeras he advanced in years. At a later periodhe became a deep student along several


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lines of thought. An overmastering deter-mination to possess the truth and anunflinching loyalty to what he conceivedto be right, have been marked character-istics of the poet's life. In him we have acurious combination. He is one of themost graceful and charming lyric poetsEngland has given the world. He is alsoa seer and philosopher, a mystic and scien-tific student, a prophet and reformer, whileall his work reflects simplicity and purityof life inspired by his high ethical code andlofty faith. For years he has experiencedremarkable psychic phenomena within hisown home circle. To him have been giventest and evidences which have convincedhim beyond all peradventure of doubt thathis loved ones who have passed from vieware neither in the ground nor in some far-off Heavenly City of the Christian, nor yetin the state of Devachan of the Buddhist,but are around about him, in his daily life.

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He has had proof palpable and of such areason-compelling character as to leave nodoubt in his mind that his dear ones live,love and move onward. On this point Mr.Massey thus clearly and forcibly expresseshis convictions :

" My faith in our future life is foundedupon facts in nature, and realities of myown personal experience ; not u23on anyfalsification of natural fact. These factshave been more or less known to me per-sonally during forty years of familiar face-to-face acquaintanceship, therefore my cer-titude is not premature ; they have givenme the proof palpable that our very ownhuman identity and intelligence do persistafter the blind of darkness has been drawndown in death. He who has plumbedthe void of death as I have, and touchedthis solid ground of fact, has established afaith that can never be undermined nor

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over-thrown. He has done with the poetryof desolation and despair, the sighs ofunavailing regret, and all the passionatewailing of unfruitful pain. He cannot hebereaved in soul! And I have had ampletestimony that my poems have done wel-come work, if only in helping to destroythe tyranny of death, which has made somany mental slaves afraid to live.

" The false faiths are fading ; but it is inthe light of a truer knowledge. The halfGods are going in order that the wholeGods may come. There is finer fish in theunfathomed sea of the future than any wehave yet landed. It is only in our timethat the data have been collected forrightly interpreting the past of man, andfor portraying the long and vast proces-sion of his slow but never-ceasing progressthrough the sandy wilderness of an uncul-tivated earth into the world of work, withthe', over-quickening consciousness of a

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higher, worthier life to come. And with-out this measure of the human past, wecould have no true gauge of the growththat is possible in the future !

"Indeed it seems to me that we are onlyjust beginning to lay hold of this life inearnest : only just standing on the verythreshold of true thought ; only just nowattaining a right mental method of think-ing, through a knowledge of evolution;only just getting in line with natural law,and seeking earnestly to stand level-footedon that ground of reality which must everand everywhere be the one lasting founda-tion of all that is permanently true."On the vital social problems which

intimately affect the progress of the race,Mr. Massey evinces the clear perceptionsof a broad-visioned philosopher. He ob-serves :

"It is only of late that the tree of knowl-13


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edge has begun to lose its evil character,to be planted anew, and spread its roots inthe fresh ground of every board-school,with its fruits no longer accursed, butmade free to all.We are beginning to see that the worstof the evils now afflicting the human raceare man made, and do not come into theworld by decree of fate or fiat of God ; andthat which is man made is also remediableby man. Not by man alone ! For womanis about to take her place by his side as truehelpmate and ally in carrying on the workof the world, so that we may look uponthe fall of man as being gradually super-seded by the ascent of woman. And herelet me say, parenthetically, that I considerit to be the first necessity for women toobtain the parliamentry franchise beforethey can hope to stand upon a businessfooting of practical equality with men;and therefore I have no sympathy with

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these would-be abortionists, who have beensomewhat too ^' previously " trying to takethe life of woman suffrage in embryobefore it should have the chance of beingbrought to birth."

With the keen penetration of a highlyintuitive mind, Mr. Massey long ago per-ceived that wisdom as well as justicedemands that woman be accorded a farmore exalted place than she has been per-mitted to occupy in the past, and he hasbeen an untiring advocate of absolutejustice and the same wholesome freedomfor her as is good for man. I know of nowriter of any age who has taken highergrounds for true morality, both within andwithout the marriage relation, than Mr.Massey. He is one of the few men of ourtime who hav6 evinced superb courage indemanding that women be protected frominvoluntary prostitution within the mar-

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riage relation. On this important themehe observes :

" The truth is, that woman at her best andnoblest must be monarch of the marriage-bed. We must begin in the creatory if weare to benefit the race, and the woman hasgot to rescue and take possession of her-self, and consciously assume all the respon-sibilities of maternity, on behalf of thechildren. No woman has any right topart with the absolute ownership of herown body, but she has the right to be pro-tected against all forms of brute force.No woman has any business to marry any-thing that is less than a man. No womanhas any right to marry any man who willsow the seeds of hereditary disease in herdarlings. Not for all the money in theworld ! No woman has any right, accord-ing to the highest law, to bear a child to aman she does not love.'*

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Our poet's liigh ideal of woman and hertrue position is beautifully expressed in thefollowing lines :]My fellow-men, as yet we have but seenWife, sister, mother, and daughter not the queenUpon her throne, with all her jewels crownedUnknowing how to seek, we have not foundOur goddess, waiting her PygmalionTo woo her into woman from the stoneOur husbandry hath lacked essential powerTo fructify the promise of the flowerWe have not known her nature ripe all round.We have but seen her beauty on one sideThat leaned in love to us with blush of brideThe pure white lily of all womanhood,With heart all golden, still is in the bud.

We have but glimpsed a moment in her faceThe glory she will give the future raceThe strong, heroic spirit knit beyondAll induration of the diamond.She is the natural bringer from above.The earthly mirror of immortal love

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The chosen mouthpiece for the mystic wordOf life divine to speak through, and be heardW ith human voice, that makes its heavenward callNot in one virgin motherhood, but all.

Unworthy of the gift, how have men trodHer pearls of pureness, swine-like, in the sodHow often have they offered her the dustAnd ashes of the fanned-out fires of lust,Or, devilishly inflamed with the divine,Waxed drunken with the sacramental wine !

How have men captured her with savage grips,To stamp the kiss of conquest on her lipsAs feather in their crest have worn her grace,Or brush of fox that crowns the hunter's chaseWooed her with passions that but wed to fireWith Hymen's torch their own funereal pyreStripped her as slave and temptress of desireEmbraced the body when her soul was farBeyond possession as the loftiest star !

Her whiteness hath been tarnished by their touchHer promise hath been broken in their clutchThe woman hath reflected man too much.And made the bread of life with earthiest leaven.

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Our coming queen must be the bride of heavenThe wife who will not wear her bonds with prideAs adult doll with fripperies glorified ;The mother fashioned on a nobler planThan woman who was merely made/rom man.On the proper rearing of children he has

words to say which should appeal to everyloving parent :

" The life we live with them every dayis the teaching that tells, and not theprecepts uttered weekly that are continu-ally belied by our own daily practices.Give the children a knowledge of naturallaw, especially in that domain of physicalnature which has hitherto been tabooed.If we break a natural law we suffer pain inconsequence, no matter whether we knowthe law or not. This result is not anaccident, because it always happens, and isobviously intended to happen. Punish-ments are not to be avoided by ignoranceof effects ; they can only be warded off by

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a knowledge of causes. Therefore nothingbut knowledge can help them. Teach thechildren to become the soldiers of dutyinstead of the slaves of selfish desire.Show them how the sins against selfreappear in the lives of others. Teachthem to think of those others as the meansof getting out of self. Teach them howthe laws of nature work by heredity. . .Children have ears like the very spies ofnature herself; eyes that penetrate allsubterfuge and pretence. . . Let thembe well grounded in the doctrine of devel-opment, without which we cannot begin tothink coherently. Give them the bestmaterial, the soundest method ; let thespirit world have a chance as a livinginfluence on them, and then let them dothe rest. Never forget that the facultyfor seeing is worth all that is to be seen.It is good to set before them the loftiestideals not those that are mythical and

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non-natural, but those that have been livedhi human reality. The best ideal of allhas to be portrayed by the parents in therealities of life at home. The teachingthat goes deepest will be indirect, and thetruth will tell most on them when it isoverheard. When you are not watching,and the children are that is when thelessons are learned for life."

These are twentieth-century thoughts,and they are pregnant with the truthwhich will yet make the world glad. Onething which impresses the reader, in allMr. Massey's works, is his sincerity and hisabhorrence of hypocrisy or shams of anykmd. This thought, which is present inall his writings, is emphasized in the fol-lowing passage from his "Devil of Dark-ness" :

" The devil and hell of my creed consistin that natural Nemesis which follows on

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broken laws, and dogs the law breaker, inspite of any belief of his that his sins andtheir inevitable results can be so cheaplysponged out, as he has been misled tothink, through the shedding of innocentblood. Nature knows nothing of the for-giveness for sin. She has no rewards orpunishmentsnothing but causes and con-sequences. For example, if you shouldcontract a certain disease and pass it on toyour children and their children, all thealleged forgiveness of God will be of noavail if you cannot forgive yourself. Oursis the devil of heredity, working in twoworlds at once. Ours is a far more terribleway of realizing the hereafter, when it isbrought home to us in concrete fact,whether in this life or the life to come,than any abstract idea of hell or devil canafford. We have to face the facts before-hand no use to whine over them impot-ently afterwards, when it is too late. Forexample :

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In the olden days when immortalsTo earth came visibly down,

There went a youth with an angelThrough the gate of an Eastern town.

They passed a dog by the roadside,Where dead and rotting it lay.

And the youth, at the ghastly odor,Sickened and turned away.

He gathered his robes around him,And hastily hm'ried thence ;

But nought annoyed the angel'sClear, pure, immortal sense.

By came a lady, lip-luscious,On delicate, mincing feet

All the place grew glad with her presence.All the air about her sweet,

For she came in fragrance floating,And her voice most silvery rang ;

And the youth, to embrace her beauty,With all his being sprang.A sweet, delightsome ladyAnd yet, the legend saith.

The angel, while he passed her.Shuddered and held his breath

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"Only think of a fine lady who, in thislife, had been wooed and flattered, sumptu-ously clad and delicately fed ; for whom thepure, sweet au" of heaven had to be per-fumed as incense, and the red rose of healthhad to fade from many young human facesto blossom in the robes she wore, whoseevery sense had been most daintily feasted,and her whole life summed up in one longthought of self, think of finding herselfin the next life a spiritual leper, a walkingpestilence, personified disease, a sloughingsore of this life which the spirit has to getrid of, an excrement of this life's selfishnessat which all good spirits stop their nosesand shudder when she comes near ! Don'you think if she realized that as a fact intime, it would work more effectually thanmuch preaching ? The hell of the drunk-ard, the libidinous, the blood-thirsty, orgold-greedy soul, they tell us, is the burn-ing of the old, devouring passion which

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was not quenched by the chills of death.The crossing of the cold, dark river, even,was only as the untasted water to theconsuming thirst of Tantalus ! In supportof this, evolution shows the continuity ofourselves, our desires, passions and char-acters. As the Egyptians said, " Whoso isintelligent here will be intelligent there ! "And if we haven't mastered and disciplinedour lower passions here, they will be mas-ters of us, for the time being, hereafter.''

In lyric verse Gerald Massey ranksamong the first English poets. His des-criptions of humble life, portrayal of pro-foundly human sentiments, and exquisitelydelicate reflections of those subtle emotionswhich are the common heritage of everytrue man and woman, have rarely beenequalled. They reveal the power of thetrue poet. Take, for example, the follow-ing stanzas selected from " Babe Christa-bel," and note the purity, wealth of feeling

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and beauty of expression which clothe theshnple story of dawn and night in thehuman heart : Babe Christabel was royally born !For when the earth was flushed with flowers,And drenched with beauty in sunshowers,

She came through golden gates of morn.

No chamber arras-pictured round,Where sunbeams make a gorgeous gloom.And touch its glories into bloom,

And footsteps fall withouten sound,

Was her birth-place that merry May morn ;No gifts were heaped, no bells were rung,No healths were drunk, no songs were sung,

When dear Babe Christabel was born :But nature on the darling smiled.And with her beauty's blessings crowned :Love brooded o'er the hallowed ground.

And there were angels with the child.

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The father, down in toil's rairk mine,Turns to his wealtliier world above,Its radiance, and its home of love ;

And licfhts his life like sun-struck wine.&'The mother moves with queenlier tread :Proud swell the globes of ripe delightAbove her heart, so warm and whiteA pillow for the baby-head !

She grew a sweet and sinless child,In shine and shower, calm and strife ;A rainbow on our dark of life,

From love's own radiant heaven down-smiled !In lonely loveliness she grew,A shape all music, light, and love.With startling looks, so eloquent of

The spirit whitening into view.

And still her cheek grew pale as pearl,It took no tint of summer's wealthOf color, warmth, and wine of health :

Death's hand so whitely pressed the girl27


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No blush grew ripe to sun or kissWhere violet veins ran purple light,So tenderly through Parian white,

Touching you into tenderness.#

She came as comes the light of smilesO'er earth, and every budding thingMakes quick with beauty, alive with spring

Then goeth to the golden isles.

She came like music in the nightFloating as heaven in the brain,A moment oped, and shut again.

And all is dark where all was Hght.She thought our good-night kiss was given.And like a flower her life did close.Angels uncurtained that repose,

And the next waking dawned in heaven.They snatched our little tenderling,So shyly opening into view,Delighted, as the children dc

The primrose that is first in spring

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The lines quoted above are taken fromvarious parts of the poem, and therefore donot present the unity of thought whichcharacterizes the exquisite creation as awhoje. ^' My Cousin Winnie " is anothervery charming poem, in which the authordescribes the child love which throbbed inhis heart, when, as a boy, he basked in thesmiles of " Cousin Winnie." I have spacefor a few stanzas only. They will be suffi-cient, however, to call up many long-vanished images to the mind of the reader.For the chambers of the human brain arestored with springtime treasures, which areforgotten until some magic word is spoken,some picture flashed upon the mentalretina, or a sound of long ago is heard,and straightway the sealed door flies open,and forth come trooping, as children froma country school, the dreams and hopeswhich gilded life's young day :

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The glad spring green grows luminousWith coming summer's golden glow

Merry birds sing as they sang to usIn far-off seasons, long ago :

The old place brings the young dawn back,That moist eyes mirror in their dew ;My heart goes forth along the trackWhere oft it danced, dear Winnie, with yoii.A world of time, a sea of change.Have rolled between the paths we tread.

Since you were my " Cousin Winnie," and IWas your " own little, good little Ned."

My being in your presence basked.And kitten-like for pleasure purredA higher heaven I never askedThan watching, wistful as a bird.

To hear that voice so rich and lowOr sun me in the rosy rise

Of some soul-ripening smile, and knowThe thrill of opening paradise.

The boy might look too tenderlyAll lightly 'twas interpreted :

You were my " Cousin Winnie," and IWas your " own little, good little Ned."^ TV ^ TT TT TT

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And then that other voice came inThere my life's music suddenly stopped.Silence and darlaiess fell between

Us, and my star from heaven dropped.I led him by the hand to youHe was my friend whose name you bear

I had prayed for some great task to do,To prove my love. I did it, dear !He was not jealous of poor meNor saw my life bleed under his tread :

You were my " Cousin Winnie," and IWas your " own little, good little Ned."

I smiled, dear, at your happinessSo martyrs smile upon the spears

The smile of your reflected blissFlashed from my heart's dark tarn of tears !

In love that made the suffering sweet.My blessing with the rest was given

" God's softest flowers kiss her feetOn earth, and crown her head in heaven ! "

And lest the heart should leap to tellIts tale i' the eyes, I bowed the head

You were my " Cousin Winnie," and IWas your " own little, good little Ned."

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Alone, unwearying, year by year,I go on laying up my love,

I think God makes no promise hereBut it shall be fulfilled above

I think my wild weed of the wasteWill one day prove a flower most sweet

My love shall bear its fruit at last'Twill all be righted when we meet

And I shall find them gathered upIn pearls for you the tears I've shed

Since you were my " Cousin Winnie," and IWas your " own little, good little Ned."

Here again in *^The Mother's IdolBroken " which, in my judgment, is thefinest work of this character written byMr. Massey we find a depth of emotion,a beauty of imagery, and a wealth of purepoetic power which would have done honorto Tennyson in the best moods of the latepoet laureate.

After describing the mother's joy overthe advent of the babe in the household,our poet continues :

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And proud ere her eyes as slie rose with theprize,

A pearl in her palms, my peerless IOh, found you a little sea siren,

In some perilous palace left?' Or is it a little child angel,Of her high-born kin bereft ?Or came she out of the elfin land,By earthly love beguiled ?

Or hath the sweet spirit of beautyTaken shape as our starry child?

With mystical faint fragrance.Our house of life she filled

Revealed each hour some fairy tower.Where winged hopes might build.

We saw though none like us might seeSuch precious promise pearled

Upon the petals of our weeWhite Rose of all the world******

Our Rose was but in blossomOur life was but in spring

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When down the solemn midnightWe heard the spirits sing :" Another hud of infancy^

With holy dews impearled^'^And in their hands they bore our weeW hite Rose of all the world.

She came like April, who with tender graceSmiles in earth's face, and sets upon her breastThe bud of all her glory yet to come,Then bursts in tears, and takes her sorrowful leave.She brought heaven to us just within the spaceOf the dear depths of her large, dream-like eyes,Then o'er the vista fell the death-veil dark.She only caught three words of human speechOne for her mother, one for me, and oneShe crowed with, for the fields and open air.That last she sighed with a sharp farewell pathosA minute ere she left the house of life,To come for kisses never any more.

Pale Blossom ! how she leaned in love to usAnd how we feared a hand might reach from

heavenTo pluck our sweetest flower, our loveliest flower

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Of life, that sprang from lowliest root of love !Some tender trouble in her eyes complainedOf Life's rude stream, as meek forget-me-notsMake sweet appeal when winds and waters fret.And oft she looked beyond us with sad eyes.As for the coming of the Unseen Hand.We saw ,but feared to speak of, her strange beauty.As some hushed bird that dares not sing i' the

night,Lest lurking foe should find its secret place.And seize it through the dark. With twin-love's

strengthAll crowded in the softest nestling-touch,We fenced her round,exchanging silent looks.We went about the house with listening hearts.That kept the watch for danger's stealthiest step.Our spirits felt the shadow ere it fell.******The mornings came with all their glory on ;Birds, brooks, and bees were singing in the sun,Earth's blithe heart breathing bloom into her face,The flowers all crowding up like memoriesOf lovelier life in some forgotten world,Or dreams of peace and beauty yet to come.The soft south-breezes rocked the baby-buds

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In fondling arms upon a balmy breastAnd all was gay as universal lifeSwam down the stream that glads the City of God,But we lay dark where Death had struck us downWith that stern blow which made us bleed within,And bow while the Inevitable went by.

:X: ^ # =^ # #This is a curl of little Marian's hair !A ring of sinless gold that weds two worlds

Poetic genius of a high order is dis-played in this remarkable production, andthough the extracts given above carrywith them the spirit of the poem, they areonly threads in what, when taken as awhole, is a cloth of many tints, rich incolor and fine in texture.Seldom do we find anything so pure andsweet as the following lines taken from^^ Wedded Love," in which the poet givesus a glimpse of his own deep and richexperiences :

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My life ran like a river in rocky ways,And seaward dashed, a sounding cataractBut thine was like a quiet lake of beauty,Soft-shadowed round by gracious influences,That gathers silently its wealth of earth,And woos heaven till it melts down into it.They mingled : and the glory and the calmClosed round me, brooding into perfect rest.Oh, blessings on thy true and tender heartHow it hath gone forth like the dove of old,To bring some leaf of promise in life's delugeThou hast a strong up-soaring tendency.That bears me Godward, as the stalwart oakUplifts the clinging vine, and gives it growth .Thy reverent heart familiarly doth takeUnconscious clasp of high and holy things,And trusteth where it may not understand.We have had sorrows, love ! and wept the tearsThat run the rose-hue from the cheeks of life ;But grief hath jewels as night hath her stars.And she revealeth what we ne'er had known.With joy's wreath tumbled o'er our blinded eyes.The heart is like an instrument whose stringsSteal nobler music from life's many frets

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The golden threads are spun through suffering'sfire,

Wherewith the marriage robes for heaven arewoven

And all the rarest hues of human lifeTake radiance, and are rainbowed out in tears.

Thou'rt little changed, dear love ! since we werewed.

Thy beauty hath climaxed like a crescent moon,With glory greatening to the golden full.Thy flowers of spring are crowned with summer

fruits,And thou hast put a queenlier presence onWith thy regality of womanhoodYet time but toucheth thee with mellowing shadesThat set thy graces in a wealthier light.Thy soul still looks with its rare smile of love,From the gate beautiful of its palace home,Fair as the spirit of the evening star.That lights its glory as a radiant porchTo beacon earth with brighter glimpse of heaven.We are poor in this world's wealth, but rich in

love ;And they who love feel rich in everything.

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Oh, let us walk the world, so that our loveBurn like a blessed beacon, beautifulUpon the walls of life's surrounding dark.Ah ! what a world 'twould be if love like oursMade heaven in human hearts, and clothed with

smilesThe sweet, sad face of our humanity

In "The Young Poet to His Wife " aremany fine lines, perhaps none more beauti-ful than the followins: : O, Love will make the killing crown of thornBurst into blossom on the Martyr's browUpon Love's bosom Earth floats like an ArkThrough all the o'erwhelming deluge of the night.Love rays us round as glory swathes a star,And from the mystic touch of lips and palms,Streams rosy warmth enough to light a world.

Among Mr. Massey's personal poemshis tribute to the author of " The Songof the Shirt," is by far the finest. Indeed,this poem is a superb production. Themelancholy spectacle of Hood battling

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with disease, bravely editing his maga-zine and composing immortal lines whileconfined to his bed and racked with painwas enough to appeal to the imaginationand sympathy of a large-hearted nature likeGerald Massey's. And then these twochampions of the poor were kindred souls.He who wrote " The Bridge of Sighswas naturally endeared to the poet whopenned " The Cry of the Unemployed."Hood was worthy of the following tribute,which I regard as among the finest speci-mens of Massey's work : 'Twas tlie old story ! ever the blind worldKnows not its Angels of DeliveranceTill they stand glorified 'twixt earth and heaven.It stones the Martyr ; then, with praying hands,Sees the God mount his chariot of fire,And calls sweet names, and worships what it

spurned.It slays the Man to deify the ChristAnd then how lovingly 'twill bind the brows

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Where late its thorn-crown Laughed witli cruellips

Red, and rejoicing from the killing kiss !To those who walk beside them, great men seemMere common earth ; but distance makes them

stars.As dying limbs do lengthen out in death,So grows the stature of their after-fame ;And then we gather up their glorious words,And treasure up their names with loving care.So Hood, our Poet, lived his martyr-lifeWith a swift soul that travelled at such speed,And struck such flashes from its flinty road.That by its trail of radiance through the dark.We almost see the unfeatured Future's face,And went uncrowned to his untimely tomb.'Tis true, the world did praise his glorious witThe merry Jester with his cap and bells !And sooth, his wit was like Ithuriel's spear ;But 'twas mere lightening from the cloud of his

life.Which held at heart most rich and blessed rainOf tear's melodious, that are worlds of love ;And Rainbows that would bridge from earth to

heaven ;And Light, that should have shone like Joshua's sun

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Above our long death-grapple vnth the WrongAnd thunder-voices, with their Words of lire,To melt the slaves chain, and the Tyrant's crown.His wit? a kind smile just to hearten us ! Rich foam-wreaths on the waves of lavish Hfe,That flashed o'er precious pearls and golden sands.But, there was that beneath surpassing witThe starry soul, that shines when all is dark ! Endurance, that can suffer and grow strongWalk through the world with bleeding feet, and

smile ! Love's inner light, that kindles Life's rare colours.Bright wine of Beauty for the longing soulAnd thoughts that swathe Humanity with such

gloryAs lines the outline of the coming God.In him were gleams of such heroic splendourAs light this cold, dark world up like a starArrayed in glory for the eyes of heaven :And a great heart that beat according musicWith theirs of old, God-likest kmgs of menA conquering heart! which Circumstance, that

frightsThe many down from Love's transfiguring height,Aye mettled into martial attitude.He might have clutched the palm of Victory

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In the world's wrestling-ring of noble deedsBut he went down a precious ArgosyAt sea, just glimmering into sight of shore,With its rare freightage from diviner climes.While friends were crowding at the Ilarbour mouthTo meet and welcome the brave Sailor back,He saw, and sank in sight of them at home !The world may never know the wealth it lost,When Hood went darkling to his tearful tomb.So mighty in his undeveloped force !With all his crowding unaccomplished hopesTh' unuttered wealth and glory of his soulAnd all the music rini^ino: round his life,And poems stirring in his dying brain.But blessings on him for the songs he sangWhich yearned about the world till then for birthHow like a bonny bird of God he came,And poured his heart in music for the Poor ;Who sit in gloom while sunshine floods the land,And grope through darkness, for the hand of Help.And trampled Manhood heard, and claimed its

crownAnd trampled Womanhood sprang up ennobledThe human soul looked radiantly through rags !And there was melting of cold hearts, as whenThe ripening sunlight fingers frozen flowers.

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O ! blessings on him for the songs he sangWhen all the stars of happy thought had setIn many a mind, his spirit walked the gloomClothed on with beauty, as the regal MoonWalks her night-kingdom, turning clouds to light.Our Champion ! with his heart too big to beatIn bonds, our Poet in his pride of powerAye, we'll remember him who fought our fight.And chose the Martyr's robe of flame, and spurnedThe gold and purple of the glistering slave.His Mausoleum is the People's heai-t,There he hes crowned and glorified, in state.Many of Europe's most competent and

conscientious critics have expressed theirappreciation of the high order of much ofMr. Massey's poetical work. "I rejoice/'wrote John Euskin to the poet, "in ac-knowledging my own debt of gratitude toyou for many an encouraging and noblethought, and expression of thought. Fewnational services can be greater than thatyou have rendered." Thomas Aird, ina critical review, observed : " Gerald

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Massey belongs to the new choir. Patliosand love and a purple flush of beautysteep the color of all his songs." Theeminent essayist, Walter Bagehot, in criti-cising Mr. Massey' s work, said : " Hisdescriptions of nature show a close ob-server of her ways, and a delicate apprecia-tion of her beauties. His images, howeversubtle and delicately woven, are neverfalse."

Here are some melodious stanzas whichtell us of the poet's hope for a brightertomorrow, a hope which he entertainedbefore his long and careful psychical inves-tigation, led to the positive convictionexpressed in his later prose and poeticalworks

Although its features fade in light of unimaginedbliss,We have shadowy revealiugs of the Better Worldin this

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A little glimpse, when Spring unveils her face andopes her eyes,

Of the Sleeping Beauty in the soul that wakes inParadise.

A little drop of Heaven in each diamond of theshower,

A breath of the Eternal in the fragrance of eachflower

A little low vibration in the warble of Night's bird.Of the praises and the music that shall be hereafter

heard !

A little whisper in the leaves that clap their handsand try

To glad the heart of man, and lift to Heaven hisgrateful eye.

A little semblance mirrored in old Ocean's smile orfrown

Of His vast glory who doth bow the Heavens andcome down

A little symbol shining through the worlds thatmove at rest

On invisible foundations of the broad Almightybreast

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A little hint that stirs and thrills the wings we foldwithin,

And tells of that full heaven yonder which musthere begin !

A little springlet welling from the fountain headabove,

That takes its earthly way to find the ocean ofall love

A little silver shiver in the ripple of the riverCaught from the light that knows no night forever

and forever

A little hidden likeness, often faded or defiled,Of the great, the good All-father, in His poorest

human childAlthough the best be lost in Ught of unimagined

bliss,

We have shadowy revealings of the Better Worldin this.As I have said before, there is little

doubt but that Gerald Massey would havebecome one of England's most famous lyricpoets, had he chosen to confine his gifts to

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subjects pleasing to wealth and convention-alism; but, like other royal souls, whothroughout the past have persistently heldto the path of duty, he chose to be loyal totruth and faithful to earth's oppressed, everpreferring the bread of poverty with theapproval of his higher self, to the applauseof the dilettanti with a life of comparativeease. Such spirits are rarely appreciateduntil they have passed from earth. Theybelong to the Royalty of Nature; theyare in truth the Sons of God.

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" Iviviortal Liberty., we see thee stand.Like viorn just steppedfrom heaven, tipoii a ni02intain.''''


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n. Zbc propbet^HE reformer is always the possi-

ble prophet. He whose natureis so finely strung and whose

conscience so sensitive to the eternalverities as they relate to right and wrongthat he feels injuries inflicted upon theunfortunate and injustice practised uponthe defenceless as though the evil fellupon himself, sustains an intimate rela-tionship to the highest as well as thehumblest expressions of life. If the cry ofthe wretch under the wheel wrings hisheart, he is also soothed by divine sympho-nies, which those of duller sensibilities areunconscious of ; and upon his spiritual per-ception there frequently flash the lightsand shadows of the coming morrow. It

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was thus with the great prophets of Israel.It was thus with John Huss and Savon-arola. It was thus with Whittier andWendell Phillips. And it is thus, in a verymarked degree, with Gerald Massey.

It is something more than an unconquer-able faith in the ultimate triumph of good,learned from the slow ascent of man, thatinspires the following thrilling lines, whichare peculiarly appropriate to our presentsocial conditions, when a new-born sense ofright and a quickened intelligence areleading millions throughout civilization todemand a fairer share in the bounties oflife:Immortal liberty ! we see thee standLike morn just stepped from heaven upon a

mountainWith beautiful feet, and blessing-laden hand,And heart that welleth love's most Uving fountain!

Oh, when wilt thou draw from the people's lyreJoy's broken cord ? and on the people's brow

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Set empire's crown? light up thine altar-fireWitliin their hearts, with an undying glow ;

Nor give us blood for milk, as men are drunk withnow?

Old legends tell us of a golden age,When earth was guiltless gods the guests ofmen,Ere sin had dimmed the heart's illumined page,

And prophet-voices say 'twill come again,O happy age ! when love shall rule the heart,And time to live shall be the poor man's dower,

When martyrs bleed no more, nor exiles smartIVIind is the only diadem of power.

People, it ripens now ! Awake, and strike the hourHearts, high and mighty, gather in our cause ;

Bless, bless, O God, and crown their earnest labor,Who dauntless fight to win us equal laws.With mental armor and with spirit sabre !

Bless, bless, O God ! the proud intelligence,That now is dawning on the people's forehead,

Humanity springs from them like incense, iThe future bursts upon them, boundless, star-

riedThey weep repentant tears, that they so long have

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The spiritual intuition or perception ofthe true prophet soul was beautifullyexpressed in the legend of the despairingsage. The story comes from that far-away time when types and symbols wereused by the children of earth, and whenman was so near to nature that at times heseemed to hear the voice of the Creator.The sage, so runs the story, had toiled

for his fellow-men through years of suffer-ing and privation. He had closed his eyesagainst the temptations of luxury and easewhich were held out to lure him from theservice of his race. He had dwelt withpoverty and had nursed the plague-stricken,had fed the starving, always striving tofix the eyes of his fellow-men upon thatwhich was enduring and divine. He rea-soned with scholars on the higher philos-ophy of life, and strove to impress uponthem the kinship of mankind. He appealedto the rich to be just, and boldly assailed

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tyranny and oppression. Often he had tofly from city to city, and sometimes he wasoffered great bribes to hold his peace. Butneither the threat of power nor the bribeof wealth swerved him from his course.His all-consuming desire was to bring aboutthe realization of the dream which hauntedhis soul. He longed to behold justice,peace and love blossom among the childrenof men.At length he became a very old man;

his hair was silvered, his face bronzed andfurrowed, his step halting and feeble.Many who had followed him when he hadbeen able to minister to their physical needsnow fell away, and the seeds he hadplanted seemed to have rotted and died.One day he sought the solitude of themoutains and in bitterness of soul prayedthat he might die ; in his depression ofspirit it seemed to him that he had livedin vain, and the future appeared to be in

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the possession of the powers of darkness.Virtue, love and peace seemed routed allalong the line of human endeavor.

While lost in prayer, so runs this legend,the sage became overcome with a senseof peace known only to the victor in aglorious cause. Then the heaviness ofearth fell away ; his soul entered an ecsta-tic condition ; his spirit was borne aloft ina chariot of luminous clouds upheld andguided by invisible hands. At length hiseyes were opened, when lo ! he was encom-passed by a multitude of radiant souls.Then his ears caught the symphony ofnature ; he was bewildered. The multi-tudes around him were incarnations oflight, of purity, of love and wisdom. Theywere victors, and the music which swelledupon the ear was an anthem of triumph.An angel of lofty mien appeared, saying

'^ Because of the failing power of the phys-ical form, the truth has become veiled to

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thy vision. Now behold the work of thylife."Then to him was given the power of the

Universal Eye. He beheld a home wherenow dwelt a father, once a plague-strickenboy nursed by the sage. The father sangto his son the songs of love, courage andbrotherhood which he had learned fromthe prophet long years ago. In anothercottage he beheld a mother telling thestory of the great man whose life made allmen better, and through whose loving carethe mother was then alive. And he notedthe radiance in the faces of the eagerchildren as they exclaimed, " We want tobe like him ! "

Then he beheld one whom he had taughtin years gone by discoursing to a vast mul-titude upon the truths which the prophethad in former days impressed upon hisbrain. He saw thousands of eager earsstrained to hear the evangel which fell

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from tlie eloquent lips of one he hadknown as a ragged boy. who had followedhim from village to village with otherpoor people. And then the panoramabroadened, mitil he beheld that he hadall unconsciously kindled fires for truthwhich should yet illuminate his people.Then the angel said, " Look once more,"

and he beheld the tumult of battle, heheard the screams of the multitude, whosank on every hand. After the battle cameinjustice and oppression ; he heard the cryof those under the oppressor and beheldthe sufferings of the world ; and as inhorror he sought the angel's face, a lightdawned. It came from the hearts andhomes of the multitudes. Then the lightgrew brighter; it spread from hut tocottage, from cottage to palace. A newconflict was in progress. Man met man ina struggle on a higher plane ; ideas wereweapons more often than swords, and in

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the dim future the sage saw the wholeworld bathed in the light of justice, man-tled in peace and prosperity.

So it is with the reformers of all times.At moments their souls, so sensitive andresponsive to the suffering and misery oflife, also catch the strains of the highermusic. Their eyes, which see the sufferingof the unfortunate and the poor as thoughevery trial was their own, also at intervalscatch glimpses of the commg day. Inone of these great visions Gerald Masseybreaks into the following triumphantstrain :

' Tis coming up the steep of time,And this old world is growing brighter

We may not see its dawn sublime,Yet high hopes make the heart throb lighter

Our dust may slumber under groundWhen it awakes the world in wonder ;

But we have felt it gathering roundHave heard its voice of distant thunder

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'Tis coming now, that glorious timeForetold by seers and sung in story,

For which, when thinking was a crime,Souls leaped to heaven from scaffolds gory !

They passed. But lo ! the work they wroughtNow the crowned hopes of centuries blossom ;

The lightning of their living thoughtIs flashing through us, brain and bosom :

'Tis coming ! yes, 'tis coming !

Creeds, empires, systems, rot with age.But the great people's ever youthful

And it shall wiite the future's pageTo our humanity more truthful

There's a divinity withinThat makes men great if they but will it

God works with all who dare to win,And the time cometh to reveal it.

' Tis coming ! yes, ' tis coming

Fraternity ! Love's other name !Dear, heaven-connecting link of being ;

Then shall we grasp thy golden dream,As souls, full-statured, grow far-seeing

Thou shalt unfold our better part.And in our life cup yield more honey

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Light up with joy the poor man's lieart,And love's own world with smiles more sunny !

' Tis coming ! yes, 'tis coming !

Jesus, who was the supreme expressionof love, was terrible in His denunciationswhen confronted by the hypocrisy andselfishness of slothful, self-indulgent con-ventionalism. Gerald Massey has pennedsome of the sweetest lines ever written bypoet of the people, but when he faces theplmiderers of the toiling millons, when helooks upon the hypocrite and oppressor, hebecomes transformed. His words are nolonger soothing and peaceful ; the limpidbrook becomes a roaring torrent. Thevoice which speaks in the following linesis not the voice of one man, but the articu-late cry of millions, thrown into speechby the instrument of God, that the wisemay be warned, and, being warned, may besaved from the ruin which must and willovertake that society which selfishly imag-

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ines it can eternally thwart the upwardmarch of humanity :Back, tramplers on the many ! Death and danger

ambushed lie ;Beware ye, or the blood may run ! The patient

people cry**Ah, shut not out the light of hope, or we may

blindly dash,Like Samson with his strong death-grope, and whelm

ye in the crash.Think how they spurred the people mad, that old

regime of France,Whose heads, like poppies, from death's scythe, fell

in a bloody dance.

In the following stanzas we are re-minded of some of the old prophets ofIsrael, who championed the cause of Godand the poor at the risk of life, and utteredluminous truths which still light up man'spathway. Mr. Massey is nothing if not afearless reformer. He does not believe ina half loaf when justice is the issue. The

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people liave certain rights of which theyare deprived by the special privilegesenjoyed by a favored few. Againstthese wrongs, which are day by day becom-ing more apparent to thoughtful and trulyenlightened men and women, our poetspeaks with that courage and sinceritywhich is as refreshing as it is rare in ourage of sycophancy : Thus saith the Lord : You weary meWith prayers, and waste your own short years ;

Eternal truth you cannot seeWho weep, and shed your sight in tears !

In vain you wait and watch the skiesNo better fortune thus will fall

Up from your knees I bid you rise,And claim the earth for all.

Behold in bonds your mother earth,The rich man's prostitute and slave !

Your mother earth, that gave you birth,You only oicn her for a grave !

And will you die like slaves, and seeYour mother left a fettered thrall

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Nay live like men and set her freeAs heritage for all.

In the same strain, and speaking not asan individual but as the articulate voice ofeternal justice, Mr. Massey elsewhere uttersthese words to the toiling millions :

Lift up your faces from the sod ;Frown with each furrowed brow

Gold apes a mightier power than God,And wealth is worshipped now

In all these toil-ennobled landsYou have no heritage ;They snatch the fruit of youthful hands,The staff from weary age.

Oh, tell them in their palaces,These lords of land and money,

They shall not kill the poor like bees,To rob them of life's honey.Through long, dark years of blood and tears^You've toiled like branded slaves

Till wrong's red hand hath made a landOf paupers, prisons, graves !

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But our long sufferance endeth now ;Within the souls of men

The fruitful buds of promise blow,And freedom lives again !

Oh, tell them in their palaces,These lords of land and money,

They shall not kill the poor like bees,To rob them of life's honey.

In his prose works he takes the sameradical and uncompromising stand forabsolute justice for the lowliest. In oneplace he says :

" We mean to have a day of reckoningwith the unjust stewards of the earth.We mean to have the national propertyrestored to the people. We mean that theland, with its inalienable right of living,its mineral wealth below the soil and itswaters above, shall be open to all. Wemean to have our banking done by thestate, and our railways worked for thebenefit of the whole people. We mean to

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temper the terror of rampart individualismwith the principles of co-operation. Wemean for woman to have perfect equalitywith man, social, religous and political, andher fair share in that equity which is of nosex. We mean also that the same stand-ard of morality shall apply to the man asto the woman. In short, we intend thatthe redress of wrongs and the righting ofinequalities, which can only be rectified inthis world, shall not be put ofl and post-poned to any future stage of existence.'*

In another place he asserts with empha-sis :

'' Humanity is one. The Eternal intendsto show us that humanity is one. And thefamily is more than the individual mem-ber, the Nation is more than the family,and the human race is more than thenation. And if we do not accept therevelation lovingly, do not take to the factkindly, why then 'tis flashed upon us

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terribly, by lightning of hell, if we will nothave it by light of heaven and the poor,neglected scum and canaille of the nationsrise up mighty in the strength of disease,and prove the oneness of humanity by kill-ing you with the same infection.

"It has recently been shown how the poorof London do not live, but fester in thepestilential hovels called their homes. Toget into these you have to visit courtswhich the sun never penetrates, which arenever visited by a breath of fresh air, andwhich never know the virtues of a drop ofcleansing water. Immorality is but thenatural outcome of such a devil's spawningground. The poverty of many who striveto live honestly is appalling.

" And this disclosure is made with thecustomary moan that such people attendneither church nor chapel, as if that werethe panacea. I should not wonder if theserevelations result in the building of more

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churches and chapels, and the consecrationof at least one or two more bishops.

" The Bishop of Bedford said the otherday, ' It was highly necessary that in thesetimes when the poor have so little earthlyenjoyment, the joys of heaven should bemade known to them.' It is not possibleto caricature an utterance so grotesque asthat."

In his songs of humanity, there is thecalm assurance of the philosopher, thatright will ultimately prevail. He pleads forthe millions under the rod. He may notsee the false falling away around him, butfar up the mountain slope he sees thepurpling dawn growing brighter. Lookingbackward he perceives that the present,with its hideousness and wrong is not, sodark as the past, and with that trust in thefinal triumph of right which makes himoptimistic, he thus refers to his songs forthe oppressed :

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Let my songs be citedAs breakers of the peace,

Till the wrongs are righted,The man-made miseries cease ;

Till earth's disinheritedBeg no more to earn their breadTill the consuming darts of bui-ning day-Shall fire the midnight foxes ; scare awayFrom labor's fruits the parasites of prey.Let them die when all is done,Now victoriously begun

Our visions have not come to naught.Who saw by lightning in the night,

The deeds we dreamed are being wroughtBy those who work in clearer lightIn other ways our fight is fought,And other forms fulfill our thoughtMade visible to all men's sight.

There is a certain thought-conipellingpower in many of his poems of labor foundonly in the work of an enthusiast, madwith divine love for his fellow-men. Oftenhe outlines upon his canvas a splendiddream, a big hope, a grand aspiration, and

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then in the foregrouQd he pamts with afew bold strokes a frightful truth. Theantithesis is tremendous in its effects, aswill be seen in the following stanza :When the heart of one-half the world doth beatAkin to the brave and the true,And the tramp of democracy's earth-quaking feetGoes thrilling the wide world throughWe should not be crouching in darkness and dust,And dying like slaves in the night

But big with the might of the inward " must "

We should battle for freedom and rightOur fathers are praying for pauper pay,Our mothers with death's kiss are white ;

Our sons are the rich man's serfs by day.And our daughters his slaves by night.

Many of Massey's poems are as appli-cable to the problems now confronting usas if called forth by present-day conditionsin our own land. Take for example thefollowing " Cry of the Unemployed," whichreveals the profound sympathy and appre-

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elation felt by our poet for the strugglingunfortunates :

'Tis hard to be a wanderer tiirough this brijrhtworld of ours,

Beneath a sky of smiling blue, on fragrant paths offlowers,

With music in the woods, as there were nought butpleasure known.

Or Angels walked Earth's solitudes, and yet withwant to groan

To see no beauty in the stars, nor in Earth's wel-come smile,

To wander cursed with misery ! willing, but cannottoil.

With burning sickness at my heart, I sink downfamished

God of the Wretched, hear my prayer : I would thatI were dead !

Heaven droppeth down with manna still in many agolden shower,

And feeds the leaves with fragrant breath, withsilver dew the flower.

Honey and fruit for Bee and Bird, with bloomlaughs out the tree,

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And food for all God's happy things; but nonegives food to me.

Earth, wearing plenty for a crown, smiles on myaching eye,

The purse-proud, swathed in luxury, disdainfulpass me by :

I've willing hands, and eager heart but may notwork for bread !

God of the Wretched, hear my prayer : I wouldthat I were dead !

Gold, art thou not a blessed thing, a charm aboveall other,

To shut up hearts to Nature's cry, when brotherpleads with brother ?

Hast thou a music sweeter than the voice of lovingkindness ?

"No ! curse thee, thou'rt a mist 'twixt God and menin outer blindness.

*' Father^ come hack " ! my Children cry ; thei^*voices, once so sweet,

Now pierce and quiver in my heart ! I cannot, darenot meet

The looks that make the brain go mad, for dearones asking bread

God of the Wretched, hear my prayer : I wouldthat I were dead70


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Lord ! what right have the poor to wed ? Love *for the gilded great

Are they not formed of nobler clay, who dine offgolden plate ?

'Tis the worst curse of Poverty to have a feelingheart

Why can I not, with iron grasp, choke out thetender part ?

I cannot slave in yon Bastille! I think 'twerebitterer pain,

To wear the Pauper's iron within, than drag theConvict's chain.

Pd work but cannot, starve I may, but will not begfor bread

God of the Wretched, hear my prayer : I wouldthat I were dead

The slow progress of justice frequentlymakes the faint-hearted waver, and manywho start out in youth brave and valiantreformers are lured into the toils of sloth-ful conventionalism, others become des-pondent and give up even before the sunof life has crossed the meridian. To such

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faltering ones Gerald Massey speaks inthese stirring lines : Never despair ! O, my Comrades in sorrow

I know that our mourning is ended not. Yet,Shall the vanquished today be the Victors tomor-

row.Our star shall shine on in the Tyrant's Sunset.

Hold on ! though they spurn thee, for whom thouart livingA life only cheered by the lamp of its love

Hold on ! Freedom's hope to the bounden onesgiving;

Green spots in the waste wait the worn spirit-dove.

Hold on, still hold on, in the world's despite,Nurse the faith in thy heart, keep the lamp of

Truth bright,And, my life for thine ! it shall end in the Right.What, though the Martyrs and Prophets have per-

ished !The Angel of Life rolls the stone from their

gravesImmortal 's the faith and the freedom they cher-

ished,Their lone Triumph-cry stirs the spirits of slaves I


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They are gone, but .1 Glory is left in our life,Like the day-god 's last kiss on the darkness ofEven -

Gone down on the desolate seas of their strife,To climb as star-beacons up Liberty's heaven.

Hold on, still hold on, in the world's despiteNurse the faith in thy heart, keep the lamp ofTruth bright,

And, my life for thine ! it shall end in the Right.Think of the Wrongs that have ground us for ages.Think of the Wrongs we have still to endure !

Think of our blood, red on History's pages ;Then work that our reck'ning be speedy and sure.

Slaves cry to their Gods ! but be our God revealedIn our lives, in our words, in our warfare forman

And bearing or borne upon Victory's shield,Let us fight battle-harnessed, and fall in the van.

Hold on, still hold on, in the world's despite,Nurse the faith in thy heart, keep the lamp ofTruth bright,

And, my life for thine ! it shall end in the Right.And to the faint heart who would turn

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ciate the single-hearted struggle made forthem, our poet has this message :Hope on, hope ever ! though To-day be dark,The sweet sunburst may smile on thee Tomorrow

Though thou art lonely, there's an eye will markThy loneliness, and guerdon all thy sorrow ?

Though thou must toil 'mong cold and sordid men,With none to echo back thy thought, or love

thee,Cheer up, poor heart ! thou dost not beat in vainWhile God is over all, and heaven above thee,

Hope on, hope ever,The iron may enter in and pierce the soul,But cannot kill the love within thee burning,

The tears of misery, thy bitter dole,Can never quench thy true heart's eager yearn-

ingFor better things ; nor crush thy ardour's trust,That Error from the :^ind shall be uprooted,

That Truth shall flower from all this tear-deweddust,

And Love be cherished where Hate was em-bruted

Hope on, hope ever.74


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I know ' tis hard to bear the sneer and taunt,With the heart's honest pride at midniglit wres-

tleTo feel the killing canker-worm of WantWhile rich rogues in their mocking luxury nestle ;

For I have felt it. Yet from Earth's cold RealMy soul looks out on coming things, and cheerful

The warm Sunrise floods all the land Ideal,And still it whispers to the worn and tearful,

Hope on, hope ever.Hope on, hope ever ! after darkest nightComes full of loving life, the laughing Morning

Hope on, hope ever ! Spring-tide, flushed withlight,

Aye crowns old Winter with her adorning.Hope on, hope ever ! For the time shall come,When man to man shall be a friend and brother

And this old world shall be a happy home,And all Earth's family love one anotherHope on, hope ever.In this little poem, entitled " The Kingli-

est Kings," the poet makes the samestirring appeal to the conscience of theindividual :

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Ho ! ye who in noble workWin scorn, as flames draw air,And in the way where Lions lurk,

God's image bravely bearThough trouble-tried and torture-torn,The kingliest Kmgs are crowned with thorn.Life's glory like the bow in heaven,

Still springeth from the cloud ;Soul ne'er out-soared the starry SevenBut Pain's fire-chariot rode :

They've battled best who've boldliest borne ;The kingliest Kings are crowned with thorn.

The martyr's fire-crown on the browDoth into glory burn

And tears that from Love's torn heart flow,To pearls of spirit turn,

Our dearest hopes in pangs are born ;The kingliest Kings are crowned with thorn.As beauty in Death's cerement shrouds.And Stars bejewel Night,

Bright thoughts are born in dim heart-clouds.And suffering worketh might.

The mirkest hour is Mother o' Morn,The kingliest Kings are crowned with thorn.

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Start up living heroes, long dreamt-of by SagesAnd smite with strong arm the oppressors ofman:

To see them come dauntless forth 'mid the world'swarring,

Slaves of the midnight mine ! Serfs of the sodShow how the Eternal within them is stirring,And never more bend to a crowned clod :

Dear God ! 'tis a sight for Immortals to see,A People up-girding its might to be free.Battle on bravely, O sons of HumanityDash down the cup from your lips, O ye Toilers!

Too long hath the world bled for Tyrant's insanityToo long our weakness been strength to our

spoilers !The heart that through danger and death will be

dutiful,Soul that with Cranmer in fire would shake

hands,And a life like a palace home built for the beauti-

ful,Freedom of all her beloved demands

And earth has no sight half so glorious to see,As People up-girding its might to be free !

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Mr. Massey has labored throughout hislife for the oppressed in every conditionof ignorance and superstition. Whereverman, woman, or child has suffered throughinjustice, his voice has leaped forth indefence of the wronged, and against thewrong-doer he has waged an incessantwarfare. He has boldly championed thecause of woman, steadfastly demanding forher that full-orbed justice which she mustreceive before the higher civilization willbe assured. And in the nineteenth cen-tury no philosopher or reformer haspleaded more earnestly for the rights ofchildren, and that their lives be permittedto unfold under the best possible condi-tions, than this pure-souled, earnest man.We are entering a struggle which willprove the most momentous Western civili-zation has ever known, because the con-flict is along every line of advance. Socialand economic problems, or the theory of

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man's relationship to man and to societyas a whole ; the problem of religion, therealm of psychical science, the rights ofwoman, the requirements and possibilitiesof childhood these are some of the ques-tions around which the forces of conserva-tism and progress are already rallying fora sanguinary conflict. Upon all these ques-tions Mr. Massey has spoken, and spokenin no uncertain voice. And, what is moreimportant, he has always placed himselfsquarely on the side of progress and thedawn. Therefore I believe that the gener-ation of the future, who will enjoy, in ameasure, the fruits of the higher and truerlife for which the prophet worked, willappreciate his splendid services, and en-shrine his name among the immortal coteriewho placed truth and the good of theirfellow-men above the comforts of life orthe applause of the world.

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III. Z\)c flD^etic.

HE prophet and mystic mustnot be confused with thepriest, for, speaking broadly,

the two represent widely divergentspheres of thought. The prophet isthe herald of progress. He assails out-grown beliefs, entrenched wrongs, and con-ventional injustice. He points from thehalf truths which were once helpful step-ping stones, but which now retard man'sonward march, to the broader vision whichthe future presents. His eye rests on theluminous peaks which lie before. He hasunbounded faith in freedom. He is often adestroyer of the old, but it is that the newmay rise in fairer forms and be of moreenduring character. If he tears down the

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log cabin, it is that he may erect the mar-ble palace.

The priest, on the other hand, is thedefender of conservatism. He distruststhe new. To him the prophet is a destruc-tionist who ignores that which age hassanctified and time made venerable. Hefears that wider liberty and greater knowl-edge will prove dangerous. He worshipsat the shrine of the past. What is written,or what other ages have believed, is, in acertain way, sacred to him. The question.Is it true ? breaks powerless as wavesbefore the precipice, when it beats againsthis prejudice and the veneration withwhich he views the established order whichhas been sanctified by time. The priest isthe bulwark of conventionalism.

This contrast is strikingly iUustrated inthe history of Israel's prophets. But no-where does it find so impressive an illustra-tion as in the life of Jesus. Here we see

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the relative attitude of the two greatspheres of thought represented by theseclasses. On the one side was Jesus, theprophet and mystic ; on the other, thepriesthood, upholding the past and defend-ingconditions as they existed. Jesus cried," Ye have heard it said, ' An eye for aneye,' but I say. Love your enemies."Jesus disregarded the ceremonials, thedogmas, and the forms held sacred by thechurch. He was a Sabbath breaker. Hemingled with publicans and sinners. Hehealed the sick in a way entirely irregular.His teachings were regarded as sacrilegiousand essentially dangerous to the establishedorder. The great prophet and mysticpointed to the higher altitudes of spiritualattainment. He drew inspiration from thelily of the field. The gold of morning andthe flaming scarlet of the evening, the starsand blue Galilee, spoke more eloquently tohim of his Father than did the stories of

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bloody strife in which the God of love wasrepresented as ordering defenceless womenand innocent babes to be mercilessly slain.The priesthood then, as has been ever thecase, worshipped at the tomb of yesterday'sthought and drew inspiration from theideals of earlier ages, which time had madefirst venerable and then sacred in the eyesof man. It naturally regarded him at firstwith apprehension, later with alarm, andfinally the fear of its members expresseditself in a deadly hate which ended in hismartydom. It was repetition of history.The reputation and life of the prophet arealways in danger. He will be misrepre-sented, slandered and misjudged, if heescape the penalty of the death sentenceAt rare intervals the soul of the prophetand mystic has been found under the robesof a priest, but here usually the priesthoodhas been arrayed against the iconoclast.Savonarola was a conspicious example ofthis class.

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In the sphere of religion the prophet isever the advance courier of truth. Heblazes the way for the groping multitude.He is impelled onward by the divineafflatus. He is always disquieting. Hestimulates reason. He awakes the soullife. He points to the lily and says. Con-sider. He turns to the sky, glorious in thesplendor of dawn or spangled with thesilver of night, and exclaims, Behold! Hetakes up the record of the past, and, in aword, warns against unlimited scepticismand blind credulity. Do not, he urges,reject as wholly worthless, or accept asentirely divine, the accumulated wisdomand follies of ancient days, but search forthe truth. He looks into the faces of thethoughtful and says. Come, let us reasontogether. Consider behold searchreason ! Thus does the prophet awakenthe soul of man. He calls to the sleepingego to be something more than an animal.

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He arouses the divine life, calls into actionthe higher potentialities of the man's be-ing, and in this way is a saviour to theindividual as well as a torch bearer tocivilization.

I speak of the prophet and mystic asone ; for in truth the distinction is ratherof degree than of nature; or, to be moreaccurate, they are different manifestationsof the divine in man. The prophet is anengine in action. He is an aggressivepower for righteousness now and here.He mingles with the surging tide of goodand evil, a warrior for justice and truth.The mystic ascends the mountains of sprit-uality and drinks deeply from the divinefountains. The truths of God steal into hissoul silently and with an all-pervadinginfluence, as comes the evening dew orthe soft light of day. We are toldthat Jesus, on occasions, doubtless whenweary with battling against the powers

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of evil on every side, and sick at heart forpoor^ suffering humanity, withdrew intothe mountains to pray that is, to com-mune with the Infinite.The mystic craves the inspiration of soli-

tude when torn by the discord of humanstrife. He posesses a strong intuitionalnature. His interior vision is preternatur-ally developed. He hears, sees, and with-in his soul knows many things which eludethe grasp of the self-seeking, business-enthralled struggler upon earth's restlesshighways. Some time ago I visited afriend who is a scientist and a deep studentof the vibratory law. Taking down aninstrument somewhat resembling a horn,he handed it to me. I put it to my earand instantly I heard a great roaring inthe room a noise suggestive of a com-ing storm. I had merely been able togather some of the noises present, whichwithout the instrument, had escaped my


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hearing. Doubtless the reader has oftentried the same experiment with a shell.Now, the interior nature of the mystic is sothoroughly awake that his vision penetratesfarther than those in whom the spiritualnature is less sensitive, and in moments ofexaltation he beholds humanity with faceset toward the sky humanity movingslowly, and often with halting step, butever moving Godward. He hears the voiceof the Infinite, and knows that the ulti-mate end of all is Good, He speaks thewords he hears unto those whose eyes arefixed upon the stars.

Sometimes he descends to the seething,struggling world below, where", tiger-like,man devours his fellow-men. Then themystic not unfrequently becomes theprophet and reformer. In Jesus, we seethe perfect blending the mystic, prophetand reformer ; and in our own time wehave frequently seen this trinity in unity.

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The poet Whittler affords a striking illus-tration in point. When confronting in-justice and inhumanity the sweet-souledQuaker poet became a veritable Isaiah.His anti-slavery verses reveal a soul lostto self and fear, a brain on fire with holyindignation. His words burn into theheart ; they fire but do not sear the con-science. They reveal to us a man whoselove of justice and freedom has consumedall baser thought. Hear this heart-cry forthe honor of the Old Bay State :O my God ! for that free spirit, which of old in

Boston townSmote the Province House with terror, struck the

crest of Andros down !For another strong-voiced Adams in the city's

streets to cry :"Up for God and Massachusetts! Set your feet

on Mammon's liePerish banks and perish traffic, spin your cottons'

latest poimd,But in Heaven's name keep your honor, keep the

heart o' the Bay State sound ! "89


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So also, in this stanza from '' The Crisis,"we are reminded of the prophet, whospeaks with an authority from within, inbold contrast to the diffident

Gerald Massey Poet Prophet and Mistic

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