― 34 ―


WHO diggeth a well by the way,
Who planteth a palm,
Sendeth up from the desert of Day
A perpetual psalm.

For a king shall bend low by the well
To give praise ere he drink,
And a slave 'neath the palm-shade shall tell
His full heart on the brink.

There the pitiless sword of the day,
Of the blinding bright noon,
Shall be stayed ere it leapeth to slay,
Shall be changed for a boon.

Nor the terror that flieth by night
Nor the arrow by day
Shall stoop down with dark pinions of blight
On the well by the way.

For Love with a rose in his hand
And a song in his mouth
Has delivered the soul of the land
From the duress of Drouth.

And never a sunset but brings
Slumber's silken surcease,
Like a tremulous folding of wings
On the altars of Peace.

And never a night goeth east
To the gates of the day
But Mercy is pilgrim and priest
At the well by the way.

  ― 35 ―
Yea, grander than Aves that climb
By the white peaks of Prayer
To a temple untarnished by time,
And the Deity there,

Goeth up from the desert of Day
The perpetual psalm
Of a song at the well by the way,
And a wind in the palm.