Into a realm of higher life.

And the silence of the gods who understand each other with

out speech.

There is the silence of defeat.

There is the silence of those unjustly punished;

And the silence of the dying whose hand

Suddenly grips yours.

There is the silence between father and son,

When the father cannot explain his life,

Even though he be misunderstood for it.

There is the silence that comes between husband and wife.

There is the silence of those who have failed;

And the vast silence that covers

Broken nations and vanquished leaders.

There is the silence of Lincoln,

Thinking of the poverty of his youth.

And the silence of Napoleon

After Waterloo.

And the silence of Jeanne d'Arc

Saying amid the flames, "Blessed Jesus"-
Revealing in two words all sorrow, all hope.
And there is the silence of age,

Too full of wisdom for the tongue to utter it

In words intelligible to those who have not lived
The great range of life.

And there is the silence of the dead.

If we who are in life cannot speak

Of profound experiences,

Why do you marvel that the dead
Do not tell you of death?

Their silence shall be interpreted
As we approach them.

-Edgar Lee Masters

*

THE COWBOY'S DREAM *

Last night as I lay on the prairie,
And looked at the stars in the sky,
I wondered if ever a cowboy
Would drift to that sweet by and by.

Roll on,

roll on;

Roll on, little dogies, roll on, roll on,
Roll on, roll on;

Roll on, little dogies, roll on.

The road to that bright, happy region
Is a dim narrow trail, so they say;
But the broad one that leads to perdition
Is posted and blazed all the way.

They say there will be a great round-up,
And cowboys, like dogies, will stand,
To be marked by the Riders of Judgment
Who are posted and know every brand.

I know there's many a stray cowboy
Who'll be lost at the great, final sale,

When he might have gone in the green pastures
Had he known of the dim, narrow trail.

I wonder if ever a cowboy

Stood ready for that Judgment Day,

And could say to the Boss of the Riders,
"I'm ready, come drive me away."

Sung to the air of My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean.

For they, like the cows that are locoed,
Stampede at the sight of a hand,

Are dragged with a rope to the round-up,

Or get marked with some crooked man's brand.

And I'm scared that I'll be a stray yearling,—
A maverick, unbranded on high,-

And get cut in the bunch with the "rusties"
When the Boss of the Riders goes by.

For they tell of another big owner
Who's ne'er overstocked, so they say,
But who always makes room for the sinner
Who drifts from the straight, narrow way.

They say he will never forget you,
That he knows every action and look;
So, for safety, you'd better get branded,
Have your name in the great Tally Book.

-John A. Lomax.

GENERAL WILLIAM BOOTH ENTERS INTO

HEAVEN *
I

[Bass drum beaten loudly]

Booth led boldly with his big bass drum(Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?)

From General William Booth Enters into Heaven and Other Poems, by Vachel Lindsay. Used by special permission of The Macmillan Company, publishers.

(To be sung to the tune of The Blood of the Lamb with indicated

instrument)

The Saints smiled gravely and they said: "He's come."
(Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?)
Walking lepers followed, rank on rank,
Lurching bravoes from the ditches dank,

Drabs from the alleyways and drug fiends pale-
Minds still passion-ridden, soul-powers frail:-
Vermin-eaten saints with mouldy breath,
Unwashed legions with the ways of Death-
(Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?)

[Banjos]

Every slum had sent its half-a-score

The round world over.

(Booth had groaned for more.)

Every banner that the wide world flies
Bloomed with glory and transcendent dyes.
Big-voiced lasses made their banjos bang,
Tranced, fanatical, they shrieked and sang:-
"Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?"
Hallelujah! It was queer to see

Bull-necked convicts with that land made free.
Loons with trumpets blowed a blare, blare, blare
On, on upward thro' the golden air!

(Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?)

II

[Bass drum slower and softer]

Booth died blind and still by Faith he trod,

Eyes still dazzled by the ways of God.
Booth led boldly, and he looked the chief
Eagle countenance in sharp relief,
Beard a-flying, air of high command.

Unabated in that holy land.
[Sweet flute music]

Jesus came from out the court-house door,
Stretched his hands above the passing poor.
Booth saw not, but led his queer ones there
Round and round the mighty court-house square.
Yet in an instant all that blear review

Marched on spotless, clad in raiment new.

The lame were straightened, withered limbs uncurled
And blind eyes opened on a new, sweet world.

[Bass drum louder]

Drabs and vixens in a flash made whole!

Gone was the weasel-head, the snout, the jowl!
Sages and sibyls now, and athletes clean,

Rulers of empires, and of forests green!

[Grand chorus of all instruments. Tambourines to the foreground.]

The hosts were sandalled, and their wings were fire! (Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?)

But their noise played havoc with the angel-choir.
(Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?)

O, shout Salvation! It was good to see
Kings and Princes by the Lamb set free.
The banjos rattled and the tambourines
Jing-jing-jingled in the hands of Queens.

[Reverently sung, no instruments]

And when Booth halted by the curb for prayer
He saw his Master thro' the flag-filled air.
Christ came gently with a robe and crown