No suppliant on servile knees

Begs here against tomorrow!

Lean flame against lean flame we flash,
O fates that meet me fair;
Blue against blue steel we clash-
Lay on, and I shall dare!

But Thou of deeps the awful Deep,
Thou Breather in the clay,
Grant this my only prayer-Oh, keep
My soul from turning gray!

For until now, whatever wrought
Against my sweet desires,

My days were smitten harps swung taut,
My night were slumberous lyres.

And howsoe'er the hard blow rang
Upon my battered shield,

Some lark-like, soaring spirit sang
Above my battlefield.

And through my soul of stormy night
The zigzag blue flame ran.

I asked no odds-I fought my fight-
Events against a man.

But now-at last-the grey mist chokes
And numbs me. Leave me pain!
Oh, let me feel the biting strokes,
That I may fight again!

A DANCE CHANT

OSAGE INDIANS

Translated by D. G. Brinton

O Wahkonda (Master of Life) pity me!

I am very poor:

Give me what I need:

Give me success against my enemies:

May I be able to take scalps!
May I be able to take horses!

PRAYER

LOUIS UNTERMEYER

God, although this life is but a wraith,
Although we know not what we use;
Although we grope with little faith,
God, give me the heart to fight-and lose.

Ever insurgent let me be,

Make me more daring than devout;
From sleek contentment keep me free
And fill me with a buoyant doubt.

Open my eyes to visions girt

With beauty, and with wonder lit,-
But let me always see the dirt,

And all that spawn and die in it.

Open my ears to music, let

Me thrill with Spring's first flute and drums
But never let me dare forget

The bitter ballads of the slums.

From compromise and things half-done,

Keep me with stern and stubborn pride;

But when at last the fight is won,

God, keep me still unsatisfied.

PRAYER OF COLUMBUS

WALT WHITMAN

A battered, wrecked old man,

Thrown on this savage shore, far, far from home,

Bent by the sea and dark rebellious brows, twelve dreary months, Sore, stiff with many toils, sickened and nigh to death,

I take my way along the island's edge,
Venting a heavy heart.

I am too full of woe!

Haply I may not live another day;

I cannot rest, O God, I cannot eat or drink or sleep,

Till I put forth myself, my prayer, once more to Thee,

Breathe, bathe myself once more in Thee, commune with Thee, Report myself once more to Thee.

Thou knowest my years entire, my life,

My long and crowded life of active work, not adoration merely; Thou knowest the prayers and vigils of my youth,

Thou knowest my manhood's solemn and visionary meditations, Thou knowest how before I commenced I devoted all to come to Thee,

Thou knowest I have in age ratified all these vows and strictly kept them,

Thou knowest I have not once lost nor faith nor ecstasy in Thee, In shackles, prison'd, in disgrace, repining not,

Accepting all from Thee, as duly come from Thee.

All my emprises have been filled with Thee,

My speculations, plans begun and carried on in thoughts of Thee,

Sailing the deep or journeying the land for Thee;

Intentions, purports, aspirations mine, leaving results to Thee.

O I am sure they really came from Thee,

The urge, the ardor, the incomparable will,

The potent-felt, interior command, stronger than words,

A message from the Heavens whispering to me even in sleep, These sped me on.

By me and these the work so far accomplished,

By me earth's elder cloyed and stifled lands uncloyed, unlosed, By me the hemispheres rounded and tied, the unknown to the known.

The end I know not, it is all in Thee,

Or small or great I know not-haply what broad fields, what lands,

Haply the brutish measureless human undergrowth I know, Transplanted there may rise to stature, knowledge worthy Thee. Haply the swords I know may there indeed be turned to reapingtools;

Haply the lifeless cross I know, Europe's dead cross, may bud and blossom there.

One effort more, my altar this bleak sand;

That Thou, O God, my life hast lighted,

With ray of light ineffable, vouchsafed of Thee,

Light rare, untellable, lighting the very light,

Beyond all signs, descriptions, languages;

For that, O God, be it my latest word, here on my knees,
Old, poor, and paralyzed, I thank Thee.

My terminus near,

The clouds already closing in upon me,

The voyage baulked, the course disputed, lost,

I yield my ships to Thee.

My hands, my limbs grow nerveless,

My brain feels racked, bewildered,

Let the old timbers part, I will not part,

I will cling fast to Thee, O God, though the waves buffet me,
Thee, Thee, at least I know.

Is it the prophet's thought I speak, or am I raving?
What do I know of life? What of myself?

I know not even my own work past or present,
Dim, evershifting guesses of it spread before me,
Of newer, better worlds, their mighty parturition
Mocking, perplexing me.

And these things I see suddenly, what mean they?
As if some miracle, some hand divine unsealed mine eyes,
Shadowy vast shapes smile through the air and sky,
And on the distant waves sail countless ships,
And anthems in new tongues I hear saluting me.