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FROM THE LIBRARY OF 
 REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. 
 
 BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
 
 / // 
 
GERALD MASSEY. 
 
ERALD MASSEY: POET, 
 PROPHET AND MYSTIC. 
 
 BY B. O. FLOWER, WITH 
 ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 LAURA LEE. 
 
 THE ARENA PUBLISHING 
 CO., BOSTON, MASS. 
 MDCCCXCV. 
 
Copprigbtefc bt> JB. ©. fflower. 
 1895. 
 
Tl^is booK is inscribed to n\y -Wife, 
 HHTTIE C. FLOWER, 
 ^ose noble life, ar\d fine, in- 
 spiring tl\oxXgl\t, t\ave been a 
 constant aid in all I Y\ave 
 endeavored to accoir\- 
 plisl) for freedorn, 
 justice and trutti. 
 
WORKS BY B. 0. FLOWER. 
 
 Civilization's Inferno; or, Studies in the 
 Social Cellar. Cloth, . . , . $1.00 
 
 The New Time : A Plea for the Union of 
 the Moral Forces for Freedom and Pro- 
 gress. Cloth, i.oo 
 
 Lessons Learned from Other Lives : A Book 
 of Short Biographies for Young People. 
 Cloth, --..... i .00 
 
 Gerald Massey : Poet, Prophet and Mystic. 
 (Illustrated.) Cloth, . . . .1.00 
 
flntro&uctor? Wlort). 
 
 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 those 
 who love justice, freedom and truth than he 
 has received. I have purposely quoted very 
 freely from the writings of Mr. Massey, 
 because I am persuaded that, in order to 
 know the true self or the spiritual ego of 
 an individual, we must see his soul in action, 
 see him battling with injustice or error, 
 when the profound depths of his being are 
 stirred by some high and saving truth ; for 
 then is revealed the spirit, unconscious 
 for the moment of the fetters of environ- 
 ment or the trammels of artificiality which 
 surround us all. Then, the curtain is 
 
raised and we catch a glimpse of the holiest 
 of holies of the human soul. This revela- 
 tion of the higher self is very marked in 
 the noblest lines of a true poet. I have 
 had a further purpose in view in thus 
 introducing the poet through his own 
 words. I desired to bring the high, fine 
 thought of Gerald Massey to the attention 
 of men and women of conviction, believing 
 that his noble ideals, his passionate appeals 
 for justice, his prophetic glimpse of the 
 coming day, would serve to awaken some 
 sleeping souls, while they would strengthen 
 others in their purpose to consecrate life's 
 best endeavors to the cause of earth's 
 miserables and to the diffusion of light. 
 
 In the third chapter I have indicated 
 some striking points of resemblance be- 
 tween the writings of Massey and Whittier. 
 The former is passionately in love with the 
 beauty in common life. He is a tireless 
 reformer, hating injustice more than he 
 
 u 
 
loves life, and he possesses a spiritual in- 
 sight equalled by few modern poets. 
 These also are marked characteristics of 
 our New England Quaker poet. The titles 
 poet, prophet and seer are as applicable to 
 the one as to the other, although Mr. 
 Massey possesses less intuitional perception 
 than Whittier. What he lacks here, how- 
 ever, is balanced by his passion for truth, 
 which has led him to search profoundly for 
 hints and facts that demonstrate the 
 reality of another life. 
 
 Mr. Massey has been too fearless and too 
 persistent a reformer to be appreciated in 
 his time, but his words and worth will be 
 treasured in the brighter day, when we 
 shall see dawning a social order which shall 
 end enforced Cl 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 without 
 the homes of the humble, I admire him ; 
 
 in 
 
as a fearless truth-seeker who has dared to 
 incur the scoffs and sneers of convention- 
 alism and the savage hate of ignorance, 
 bigotry and fanaticism in the cause of 
 truth, I honor him ; and because he has 
 been a true prophet of freedom, fraternity 
 and justice, ever loyal to the interest of the 
 oppressed, I love him. Mr. Massey's face 
 has been steadfastly set toward the morn- 
 ing; his thoughts are luminous with the 
 light of the coming age ; hence it is not 
 surprising that he has disturbed the bats 
 and owls, or enraged the serpents and 
 tigers in society, who instinctively shrink 
 from the holy candor of truth or the sweet 
 reasonableness of justice. 
 
 B. 0. Flower. 
 
 Boston, January, 1895. 
 
 iv 
 
p/,^ 
 
 f^-55^^^/ 
 
 { She grew a sweet and sinless child.'''' 
 
I. Hhe poet an& tbe ftoam 
 
 HERE are in our midst many 
 poets who attract small atten- 
 tion from conventional critics, 
 as they have studiously avoided the praise 
 of conservatism, choosing the byways of duty 
 in preference to the highway of popularity, 
 and always living up to their highest convic- 
 tion of right. The poor, the oppressed, and 
 the sorrowing have been their special charge. 
 Their lives have been characterized by 
 simplicity, and their words and deeds have 
 inspired unnumbered struggling souls with 
 lofty ideals and nobler conceptions of life. 
 While the wreath of fame has been placed 
 by conservatism on the brows of many 
 whose empty rhymes have conformed to 
 the dilettante standard of "art for art's 
 
sake," these poets have quietly sung cour- 
 age, hope and love into the hearts of the 
 people, luring them unconsciously to higher 
 altitudes of spirituality. They have at all 
 times proclaimed the noble altruism of liv- 
 ing for others — the song of the to-morrow 
 of civilization. Amid the ambitions and 
 jealousies of life, the strife for fame and 
 gold, they are not found ; but where tyranny 
 mocks freedom and the poor cry for justice, 
 their words ring clear and strong. They are 
 the people's saviours, for they help the 
 multitudes into the light of truth and up 
 the path of noble endeavor. 
 
 Among this coterie of chosen sons of 
 God, whose unpurchasable love of justice 
 and holy candor of soul have rendered it 
 impossible for them to yield to the siren 
 voices of conventionalism, no name is en- 
 titled to a more honored place than that of 
 Gerald Massey — the poet-prophet of our 
 day, who has stood for truth and right, while 
 
less royal souls have sold their heaven-given 
 birthright for earth's pottage. Had Mr. 
 Massey chosen to devote his rare talent to 
 the humors and dictates of conventionalism, 
 instead of offending the dilettantehy boldly 
 pleading the cause of the oppressed ; had 
 he devoted his gifts to the creation of pop- 
 ular lyrics, instead of compelling his read- 
 ers to think upon the wrongs of those who 
 suffer through man's inhumanity to man, 
 he would not have remained comparatively 
 obscure and been compelled to eat the 
 bread of poverty. For few men of our 
 century have received higher praise from 
 leading literary critics than this poet of the 
 people. And had wealth been able to flat- 
 ter him into a fawning sycophant he would 
 have become the idol of a gay, frivolous 
 and amusement-loving class who imagine 
 they are cultured. 
 
 But Gerald Massey was a man before he 
 was a poet. His love for justice was 
 
greater than his desire for the eider down 
 of 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 the 
 spirit of an Isaiah. He preferred to reflect 
 the best in his soul and devote his divine 
 gift to the service of justice, rather than 
 conform to the vicious standards which 
 conventionalism demands as the price of 
 popularity and preferment. He cham- 
 pioned the cause of the weak, the poor 
 and those whose lives are made bitter by 
 having to bear heavier burdens than right- 
 fully belong to them. 
 
 Now, because of this magnificient loyalty 
 to justice and human rights, because he 
 dared to assail the injustice of entrenched 
 plutocracy and the hypocrisy of creedal 
 religion, he has been denied the justice due 
 to his fine poetic talent and his superb 
 manhood. But though ignored, in the 
 
main, by conservatism, he has won the 
 hearts of millions who love, suffer and 
 wait. And I believe the future will place 
 him high in the pantheon of England's 
 poets, because he has voiced the real spirit 
 of the on-coming civilization in a truer and 
 braver way than many contemporaries who 
 are basking in popular favor. The follow- 
 ing extracts from his writings reflect the 
 dream ever present in the poet's mind. 
 They may be said to contain the keynote 
 of his creed : — 
 
 " The first duty of men who have to die 
 is to learn how to live, so as to leave the 
 world, or something in it, a little better 
 than they found it. Our future life must 
 be the natural outcome of this : the root of 
 the whole matter is in this life." 
 
 We hear the ciy for bread with plenty smiling all 
 
 around ; 
 Hill and valley in their bounty blush for man with 
 
 fruitage crowned, 
 
What a merry world it might be, opulent for all 
 
 and aye, 
 With its lands that ask for labor, and its wealth 
 
 that wastes away ! 
 This world is full of beauty, as other worlds 
 
 above ; 
 And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love. 
 
 The leaf-tongues of the forest, and the flower-lips 
 
 of the sod, 
 The happy birds that hymn their raptures in the 
 
 ear of God, 
 The summer wind that bringeth music over land 
 
 and sea, 
 Have each a voice that singeth this sweet song 
 
 of songs to me — 
 "This world is full of beauty, as other worlds 
 
 above ; 
 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 sudden 
 
 soul should start ! 
 
 6 
 
The dreary, dim and desolate should wear a sunny 
 
 bloom, 
 And love should spring from buried hate, like 
 
 flowers from winter's tomb. 
 This world is full of beauty, as other worlds 
 
 above ; 
 And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love. 
 
 Were truth our uttered language, spirits might talk 
 with men, 
 
 And God-illumined earth should see the Golden 
 
 « 
 Age again ; 
 
 The burthened heart should soar in mirth like 
 
 morn's young prophet-lark, 
 And misery's last tear wept on earth quench hell's 
 
 last cunning spark ! 
 This world is full of beauty, as other worlds 
 
 above ; 
 And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love. 
 
 Gerald Massey was born in Hertfordshire, 
 England, in 1828. His father was ex- 
 tremely poor, and G-erald was compelled at 
 an early age to enter a factory, and thus 
 
help support a family which knew all the 
 bitterness of biting poverty. Many years 
 of his early life were spent in straw plait- 
 ing. At eight he was working twelve 
 hours a day in a silk manufactory, and 
 receiving from nine pence to one 
 shilling and sixpence a week. Very 
 pathetic is the poet's description of the bit- 
 ter struggle with poverty which marked 
 his early boyhood. Still, without this 
 experience it is doubtful if the world would 
 have been enriched by his clarion cries for 
 justice or the inspiring songs of hope and 
 courage which will be sung and resung 
 until the wealth producer is emancipated 
 and civilization learns her supreme lesson 
 — that Humanity is one. 
 
 John Ruskin, who has ever seemed to take 
 a special interest in Gerald Massey, on one 
 occasion wrote the poet — " Your education 
 was a terrible one, but mine was far worse ; " 
 the one having suffered the bitterness of pov- 
 
erty, the other having been the pampered 
 child of wealth. Very few books came 
 into the possession of the poor poet boy, 
 and his time was so taken up that he had 
 few moments for the luxury of reading. 
 He received no instruction save that ob- 
 tained in a penny school, but his passion- 
 ate longing for knowledge led him to many 
 fountains of truth which duller minds 
 would never have discerned. The book of 
 nature attracted his eye, her smile wooed 
 him, her voice charmed his ear ; his mind 
 unconsciously drank deeply of her truths. 
 Like many another poor boy, Mr. Massey 
 learned the value of knowledge. His mind 
 became a storehouse for truth, rather than 
 a sieve, and his passion for the acquisition 
 of facts, which was awakened before neces- 
 sity compelled him to enter the rank of the 
 child slaves of factory life, grew stronger 
 as he advanced in years. At a later period 
 he became a deep student along several 
 
lines of thought. An overmastering deter- 
 mination to possess the truth and an 
 unflinching loyalty to what he conceived 
 to be right, have been marked character- 
 istics of the poet's life. In him we have a 
 curious combination. He is one of the 
 most graceful and charming lyric poets 
 England has given the world. He is also 
 a seer and philosopher, a mystic and scien- 
 tific student, a prophet and reformer, while 
 all his work reflects simplicity and purity 
 of life inspired by his high ethical code and 
 lofty faith. For years he has experienced 
 remarkable psychic phenomena within his 
 own home circle. To him have been given 
 test and evidences which have convinced 
 him beyond all perad venture of doubt that 
 his loved ones who have passed from view 
 are neither in the ground nor in some far- 
 off Heavenly City of the Christian, nor yet 
 in the state of Devachan of the Buddhist, 
 but are around about him, in his daily life. 
 
 10 
 
He has had proof palpable and of such a 
 reason-compelling character as to leave no 
 doubt in his mind that his dear ones live, 
 love and move onward. On this point Mr. 
 Massey thus clearly and forcibly expresses 
 his convictions: — 
 
 " My faith in our future life is founded 
 upon facts in nature, and realities of my 
 own personal experience ; not upon any 
 falsification of natural fact. These facts 
 have 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 given 
 me the proof palpable that our very own 
 human identity and intelligence do persist 
 after the blind of darkness has been drawn 
 down in death. He who has plumbed 
 the void of death as I have, and touched 
 this solid ground of fact, has established a 
 faith that can never be undermined nor 
 
 11 
 
over-thrown. He has done with the poetry 
 of desolation and despair, the sighs of 
 unavailing regret, and all the passionate 
 wailing of unfruitful pain. He cannot be 
 bereaved in soul! And I have had ample 
 testimony that my poems have done wel- 
 come work, if only in helping to destroy 
 the tyranny of death, which has made so 
 many mental slaves afraid to live. 
 
 " The false faiths are fading ; but it is in 
 the light of a truer knowledge. The half 
 Gods are going in order that the whole 
 Gods may come. There is finer fish in the 
 unfathomed sea of the future than any we 
 have yet landed. It is only in our time 
 that the data have been collected for 
 rightly interpreting the past of man, and 
 for portraying the long and vast proces- 
 sion of his slow but never-ceasing progress 
 through the sandy wilderness of an uncul- 
 tivated earth into the world of work, with 
 the ever-quickening consciousness of a 
 
 12 
 
higher, worthier life to come. And with- 
 out this measure of the human past, we 
 could have no true gauge of the growth 
 that is possible in the future ! 
 
 "Indeed it seems to me that we are only 
 just beginning to lay hold of this life in 
 earnest: only just standing on the very 
 threshold of true thought ; only just now 
 attaining 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-footed 
 on that ground of reality which must ever 
 and 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 perceptions 
 of a broad-visioned philosopher. He ob- 
 serves : — 
 
 a 
 
 It is only of late that the tree of knowl- 
 
 13 
 
edge has begun to lose its evil character, 
 to be planted anew, and spread its roots in 
 the fresh ground of every board-school, 
 with its fruits no longer accursed, but 
 made free to all. 
 
 We are beginning to see that the worst 
 of the evils now afflicting the human race 
 are man made, and do not come into the 
 world by decree of fate or fiat of God ; and 
 that which is man made is also remediable 
 by man. Not by man alone ! For woman 
 is about to take her place by his side as true 
 helpmate and ally in carrying on the work 
 of the world, so that we may look upon 
 the fall of man as being gradually super- 
 seded by the ascent of woman. And here 
 let me say, parenthetically, that I consider 
 it to be the first necessity for women to 
 obtain the parliamentry franchise before 
 they can hope to stand upon a business 
 footing of practical equality with men; 
 and therefore I have no sympathy with 
 
 14 
 
these would-be abortionists, who have been 
 somewhat too " previously " trying to take 
 the life of woman suffrage in embryo 
 before it should have the chance of being 
 brought to birth." 
 
 With the keen penetration of a highly 
 intuitive mind, Mr. Massey long ago per- 
 ceived that wisdom as well as justice 
 demands that woman be accorded a far 
 more exalted place than she has been per- 
 mitted to occupy hi the past, and he has 
 been an untiring advocate of absolute 
 justice and the same wholesome freedom 
 for her as is good for man. I know of no 
 writer of any age who has taken higher 
 grounds for true morality, both within and 
 without the marriage relation, than Mr. 
 Massey. He is one of the few men of our 
 time who have evinced superb courage in 
 demanding that women be protected from 
 involuntary prostitution within the mar- 
 is 
 
riage relation. On this important theme 
 he observes : — 
 
 " The truth is, that woman at her best and 
 noblest must be monarch of the marriage- 
 bed. We must begin in the creatory if we 
 are to benefit the race, and the woman has 
 got to rescue and take possession of her- 
 self, and consciously assume all the respon- 
 sibilities of maternity, on behalf of the 
 children. No woman has any right to 
 part with the absolute ownership of her 
 own 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 woman 
 has any right to marry any man who will 
 sow the seeds of hereditary disease in her 
 darlings. Not for all the money in the 
 world ! No woman has any right, accord- 
 ing to the highest law, to bear a child to a 
 man she does not love." 
 
 16 
 
Our poet's high ideal of woman and her 
 true position is beautifully expressed in the 
 following lines : — 
 
 My fellow-men, as yet we have but seen 
 
 Wife, sister, mother, and daughter — not the queen 
 
 Upon her throne, with all her jewels crowned! 
 
 Unknowing how to seek, we have not found 
 Our goddess, waiting her Pygmalion 
 To woo her into woman from the stone ! 
 
 Our husbandry hath lacked essential power 
 
 To fructify the promise of the flower ; 
 
 We have not known her nature ripe all round. 
 
 We have but seen her beauty on one side 
 That leaned in love to us with blush of bride : 
 The pure white lily of all womanhood, 
 With heart all golden, still is in the bud. 
 
 We have but glimpsed a moment in her face 
 The glory she will give the future race ; 
 The strong, heroic spirit knit beyond 
 All induration of the diamond. 
 
 She is the natural bringer from above, 
 The earthly mirror of immortal love ; 
 
 17 
 
The chosen mouthpiece for the mystic word 
 Of life divine to speak through, and be heard 
 W ith human voice, that makes its heavenward call 
 Not in one virgin motherhood, but all. 
 
 Unworthy of the gift, how have men trod 
 Her pearls of pureness, swine-like, in the sod ! 
 How often have they offered her the dust 
 And 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 lips ; 
 As feather in their crest have worn her grace, 
 Or brush of fox that crowns the hunter's chase ; 
 Wooed her with passions that but wed to fire 
 With Hymen's torch their own funereal pyre ; 
 Stripped her as slave and temptress of desire ; 
 Embraced the body when her soul was far 
 Beyond possession as the loftiest star ! 
 
 Her whiteness hath been tarnished by their touch ; 
 Her promise hath been broken in their clutch ; 
 The woman hath reflected man too much, 
 And made the bread of life with earthiest leaven. 
 
 18 
 
Our coming queen must be the bride of heaven — 
 
 The wife who will not wear her bonds with pride 
 
 As adult doll with fripperies glorified ; 
 
 The mother fashioned on a nobler plan 
 
 Than woman who was merely made from man. 
 
 On the proper rearing of children he has 
 words to say which should appeal to every 
 loving parent : — 
 
 " The life we live with them every day 
 is the teaching that tells, and not the 
 precepts uttered weekly that are continu- 
 ally belied by our own daily practices. 
 Give the children a knowledge of natural 
 law, especially in that domain of physical 
 nature which has hitherto been tabooed. 
 If we break a natural law we suffer pain in 
 consequence, no matter whether we know 
 the law or not. This result is not an 
 accident, because it always happens, arid is 
 obviously intended to happen. Punish- 
 ments are not to be avoided by ignorance 
 of effects ; they can only be warded off by 
 
 19 
 
a knowledge of causes. Therefore nothing 
 but knowledge can help them. Teach the 
 children to become the soldiers of duty 
 instead of the slaves of selfish desire. 
 Show them how the sins against self 
 reappear in the lives of others. Teach 
 them to think of those others as the means 
 of getting out of self. Teach them how 
 the laws of nature work by heredity. . . 
 Children have ears like the very spies of 
 nature herself; eyes that penetrate all 
 subterfuge and pretence. . . Let them 
 be well grounded in the doctrine of devel- 
 opment, without which we cannot begin to 
 think coherently. Give them the best 
 material, the soundest method ; let the 
 spirit world have a chance as a living 
 influence on them, and then let them do 
 the rest. Never forget that the faculty 
 for seeing is worth all that is to be seen. 
 It is good to set before them the loftiest 
 ideals — not those that are mythical and 
 
 20 
 
non-natural, but those that have been lived 
 in human reality. The best ideal of all 
 has to be portrayed by the parents in the 
 realities of life at home. The teaching 
 that goes deepest will be indirect, and the 
 truth will tell most on them when it is 
 overheard. When you are not watching, 
 and the children are — that is when the 
 lessons are learned for life." 
 
 These are twentieth-century thoughts, 
 and they are pregnant with the truth 
 which will yet make the world glad. One 
 thing which impresses the reader, in all 
 Mr. Massey's works, is his sincerity and his 
 abhorrence of hypocrisy or shams of any 
 kind. This thought, which is present in 
 all his writings, is emphasized in the fol- 
 lowing passage from his "Devil of Dark- 
 ness" : — 
 
 " The devil and hell of my creed consist 
 in that natural Nemesis which follows on 
 
 21 
 
broken laws, and dogs the law breaker, in 
 spite of any belief of his that his sins and 
 their inevitable results can be so cheaply 
 sponged out, as he has been misled to 
 think, through the shedding of innocent 
 blood. Nature knows nothing of the for- 
 giveness for sin. She has no rewards or 
 punishments — nothing but causes and con- 
 sequences. For example, if you should 
 contract a certain disease and pass it on to 
 your children and their children, all the 
 alleged forgiveness of God will be of no 
 avail if you cannot forgive yourself. Ours 
 is the devil of heredity, working in two 
 worlds at once. Ours is a far more terrible 
 way of realizing the hereafter, when it is 
 brought home to us in concrete fact, 
 whether in this life or the life to come, 
 than any abstract idea of hell or devil can 
 afford. We have to face the facts before- 
 hand — no use to whine over them impot- 
 ently afterwards, when it is too late. For 
 example : — 
 
 22 
 
In the olden days when immortals 
 
 To earth came visibly down, 
 There went a youth with an angel 
 
 Through 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 hurried thence ; 
 But nought annoyed the angel's 
 
 Clear, 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 lady : 
 
 And yet, the legend saith, 
 The angel, while he passed her, 
 
 Shuddered and held his breath ! 
 
 23 
 
"Only think of a fine lady who, in this 
 life, had been wooed and flattered, sumptu- 
 ously clad and delicately fed ; for whom the 
 pure, sweet air of heaven had to be per- 
 fumed as incense, and the red rose of health 
 had to fade from many young human faces 
 to blossom in the robes she wore, whose 
 every sense had been most daintily feasted, 
 and her whole life summed up in one long 
 thought of self, — think of finding herself 
 in the next life a spiritual leper, a walking 
 pestilence, personified disease, a sloughing 
 sore of this life which the spirit has to get 
 rid of, an excrement of this life's selfishness 
 at which all good spirits stop their noses 
 and shudder when she comes near! Don't 
 you think if she realized that as a fact in 
 time, it would work more effectually than 
 much preaching ? The hell of the drunk- 
 ard, the libidinous, the blood-thirsty, or 
 gold-greedy soul, they tell us, is the burn- 
 ing of the old, devouring passion which 
 
 24 
 
was not quenched by the chills of death. 
 The crossing of the cold, dark river, even, 
 was only as the untasted water to the 
 consuming thirst of Tantalus ! In support 
 of this, evolution shows the continuity of 
 ourselves, our desires, passions and char- 
 acters. As the Egyptians said, " Whoso is 
 intelligent here will be intelligent there ! ,: 
 And if we haven't mastered and disciplined 
 our lower passions here, they will be mas- 
 ters of us, for the time being, hereafter.'' 
 
 In lyric verse Gerald Massey ranks 
 among the first English poets. His des- 
 criptions of humble life, portrayal of pro- 
 foundly human sentiments, and exquisitely 
 delicate reflections of those subtle emotions 
 which are the common heritage of every 
 true man and woman, have rarely been 
 equalled. They reveal the power of the 
 true poet. Take, for example, the follow- 
 ing stanzas selected from " Babe Christa- 
 bel," and note the purity, wealth of feeling 
 
 2o 
 
and beauty of expression which clothe the 
 simple story of dawn and night in the 
 human 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. 
 
 26 
 
The father, down in toil's mirk mine, 
 Turns to his wealthier world above, 
 Its radiance, and its home of love ; 
 
 And lights his life like sun-struck wine. 
 
 The mother moves with queenlier tread 
 Proud swell the globes of ripe delight 
 Above her heart, so warm and white 
 
 A 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 wealth 
 Of color, warmth, and wine of health : 
 
 Death's hand so whitely pressed the girl ! 
 
 27 
 
No blush grew ripe to sun or kiss 
 Where violet veins ran purple light, 
 So tenderly through Parian white, 
 
 Touching you into tenderness. 
 
 She came — as comes the light of smiles 
 O'er earth, and every budding thing 
 Makes quick with beauty, alive with spring ; 
 
 Then goeth to the golden isles. 
 
 She came — like music in the night 
 
 Floating as heaven in the brain, 
 
 A moment oped, and shut again, 
 And all is dark where all was lisrht. 
 
 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 
 
 28 
 
The lines quoted above are taken from 
 various parts of the poem, and therefore do 
 not present the unity of thought which 
 characterizes the exquisite creation as a 
 whole. "My Cousin Winnie" is another 
 very charming poem, in which the author 
 describes the child love which throbbed in 
 his heart, when, as a boy, he basked in the 
 smiles of " Cousin Winnie." I have space 
 for 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 are 
 stored with springtime treasures, which are 
 forgotten until some magic word is spoken, 
 some picture flashed upon the mental 
 retina, or a sound of long ago is heard, 
 and straightway the sealed door flies open, 
 and forth come trooping, as children from 
 a country school, the dreams and hopes 
 which gilded life's young day : — 
 
 29 
 
The glad spring green grows luminous 
 
 With coming summer's golden glow ; 
 Merry birds sing as they sang to us 
 
 In 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 track 
 
 Where oft it danced, dear Winnie, with yon, 
 A world of time, a sea of change, 
 
 Have rolled between the paths we tread, 
 Since you were my " Cousin Winnie," and I 
 
 Was your " own little, good little Ned." 
 
 My being in your presence basked, 
 
 And kitten-like for pleasure purred ; 
 A higher heaven I never asked 
 
 Than watching, wistf ul as a bird, 
 To hear that voice so rich and low ; 
 
 Or sun me in the rosy rise 
 Of some soul-ripening smile, and know 
 
 The thrill of opening paradise. 
 The boy might look too tenderly — 
 
 All lightly 'twas interpreted : 
 You were my " Cousin Winnie," and I 
 
 Was your " own little, good little Ned." 
 
 30 
 
And then that other voice came in ! 
 
 There my life's music suddenly stopped. 
 Silence and darkness fell between 
 
 Us, and my star from heaven dropped. 
 I led him by the hand to you — 
 
 He 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 me ; 
 
 Nor saw my life bleed under his tread : 
 You were my " Cousin Winnie," and I 
 
 Was your "own little, good little Ned." 
 
 I smiled, dear, at your happiness — 
 
 So martyrs smile upon the spears — 
 The smile of your reflected bliss 
 
 Flashed 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 feet 
 
 On earth, and crown her head in heaven ! " 
 
 And lest the heart should leap to tell 
 Its tale i' the eyes, I bowed the head : 
 
 You were my " Cousin Winnie," and I 
 Was your " own little, good little Ned." 
 
 # * # # * * 
 
 31 
 
Alone, unwearying, year by year, 
 
 I go on laying up my love, 
 I think God makes no promise here 
 
 But it shall be fulfilled above ; 
 I think my wild weed of the waste 
 
 Will 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 up 
 
 In pearls for you — the tears I've shed 
 Since you were my " Cousin Winnie," and I 
 
 Was your " own little, good little Ned." 
 
 Here again in u The Mother's Idol 
 Broken " — which, in my judgment, is the 
 finest work of this character written by 
 Mr. Massey — we find a depth of emotion, 
 
 a beauty of imagery, and a wealth of pure 
 poetic power which would have done honor 
 to Tennyson in the best moods of the late 
 poet laureate. 
 
 After describing the mother's joy over 
 the advent of the babe in the household, 
 our poet continues : — 
 
 32 
 
And proud ere her eyes as she rose with the 
 prize, 
 A pearl in her palms, my peerless ! 
 
 Oh, 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 beauty 
 
 Taken 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 see — 
 
 Such precious promise pearled 
 Upon the petals of our wee 
 
 White Rose of all the world ! 
 
 Our Rose was but in blossom ; 
 Our life was but in spring ; 
 
 33 
 
When down the solemn midnight 
 
 We heard the spirits sing : 
 " Another bud of infancy ', 
 
 With holy dews impearled^ 
 And in their hands they bore our wee 
 
 W hite Rose of all the world. 
 
 She came like April, who with tender grace 
 Smiles in earth's face, and sets upon her breast 
 The 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 space 
 Of 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 speech : 
 One for her mother, one for me, and one 
 She crowed with, for the fields and open air. 
 That last she sighed with a sharp farewell pathos 
 A minute ere she left the house of life, 
 To come for kisses never any more. 
 
 Pale Blossom ! how she leaned in love to us ! 
 And how we feared a hand might reach from 
 
 heaven 
 To pluck our sweetest flower, our loveliest flower 
 
 34 
 
Of life, that sprang from lowliest root of love ! 
 Some tender trouble in her eyes complained 
 Of Life's rude stream, as meek forget-me-nots 
 Make 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 
 
 strength 
 All 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 memories 
 Of lovelier life in some forgotten world, 
 Or dreams of peace and beauty yet to come. 
 The soft south-breezes rocked the baby-buds 
 
In fondling arms upon a balmy breast ; 
 
 And all was gay as universal life 
 
 Swam down the stream that glads the City of God. 
 
 But we lay dark where Death had struck us down 
 With that stern blow which made us bleed within, 
 And bow while the Inevitable went by. 
 
 jjt -Jfe -4fe «4t* --& Jfc 
 
 •7T -vr TT "7T -7V" TT 
 
 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, and 
 though the extracts given above carry 
 with them the spirit of the poem, they are 
 only threads in what, when taken as a 
 whole, is a cloth of many tints, rich in 
 color and fine in texture. 
 
 Seldom do we find anything so pure and 
 sweet as the following lines taken from 
 "Wedded Love," in which the poet gives 
 us a glimpse of his own deep and rich 
 experiences : — 
 
 36 
 
My life ran like a river in rocky ways, 
 And seaward dashed, a sounding cataract ! 
 But 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 calm 
 Closed round me, brooding into perfect rest. 
 Oh, blessings on thy true and tender heart ! 
 How it hath gone forth like the dove of old, 
 To bring some leaf of promise in life's deluge ! 
 Thou hast a strong up-soaring tendency, 
 That bears me Godward, as the stalwart oak 
 Uplifts the clinging vine, and gives it growth . 
 Thy reverent heart familiarly doth take 
 Unconscious clasp of high and holy things, 
 And trusteth where it may not understand. 
 We have had sorrows, love ! and wept the tears 
 That 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 strings 
 Steal nobler music from life's many frets ; 
 
 37 
 
The golden threads are spun through suffering's 
 
 fire, 
 Wherewith the marriage robes for heaven are 
 
 woven ; 
 And all the rarest hues of human life 
 Take radiance, and are rainbowed out in tears. 
 
 Thou'rt little changed, dear love ! since we were 
 
 wed. 
 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 on 
 With thy regality of womanhood ! 
 Yet time but toucheth thee with mellowing shades 
 That 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 porch 
 To 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. 
 
 38 
 
Oh, let us walk the world, so that our love 
 Burn like a blessed beacon, beautiful 
 Upon the walls of life's surrounding dark. 
 Ah ! what a world 'twould be if love like ours 
 Made heaven in human hearts, and clothed with 
 
 smiles 
 The sweet, sad face of our humanity ! 
 
 In "The Young Poet to His Wife " are 
 many fine lines, perhaps none more beauti- 
 ful than the following : — 
 
 O, Love will make the killing crown of thorn 
 Burst into blossom on the Martyr's brow ! 
 Upon Love's bosom Earth floats like an Ark 
 Through 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 poems 
 his tribute to the author of " The Song 
 of the Shirt," is by far the finest. Indeed, 
 this poem is a superb production. The 
 melancholy spectacle of Hood battling 
 
 39 
 
with disease, bravely editing his maga- 
 zine and composing immortal lines while 
 confined to his bed and racked with pain 
 was enough to appeal to the imagination 
 and sympathy of a large-hearted nature like 
 Gerald Massey's. And then these two 
 champions of the poor were kindred souls. 
 He who wrote " The Bridge of Sighs " 
 was naturally endeared to the poet who 
 penned " 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 the old story ! — ever the blind world 
 
 Knows not its Angels of Deliverance 
 
 Till 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 Christ : 
 And then how lovingly 'twill bind the brows 
 
 40 
 
Where late its thorn-crown laughed with cruel 
 
 lips — 
 Red, and rejoicing from the killing kiss ! 
 To those who walk beside them, great men seem 
 31 ere 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-life ; 
 
 With 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 wit — 
 
 The merry Jester with his cap and bells ! 
 
 And sooth, his wit was like IthuriePs spear ; 
 
 But 'twas mere lightening from the cloud of his 
 
 * life, 
 Which held at heart most rich and blessed rain 
 
 Of 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 
 
 41 
 
Above our long death-grapple with the Wrong ; 
 And thunder- voices, with their Words of fire, 
 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 life, 
 That flashed o'er precious pearls and golden sands. 
 But, there was that beneath surpassing wit ! 
 The starry soul, that shines when all is dark ! — 
 Endurance, that can suffer and grow strong — 
 Walk 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 soul ; 
 And thoughts that swathe Humanity with such 
 
 glory 
 As lines the outline of the coming God. 
 In him were gleams of such heroic splendour 
 As light this cold, dark world up like a star 
 Arrayed in glory for the eyes of heaven : 
 And a great heart that beat according music 
 With theirs of old, — God-likest kings of men ! 
 A conquering heart ! which Circumstance, that 
 
 frights 
 The many down from Love's transfiguring height, 
 Aye mettled into martial attitude. 
 He might have clutched the palm of Victory 
 
 42 
 
In the world's wrestling- ring of noble deeds ; 
 But he went down a precious Argosy 
 At sea, just glimmering into sight of shore, 
 With its rare freightage from diviner climes. 
 While friends were crowding at the Harbour mouth 
 To 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 hopes — 
 Th' unuttered wealth and glory of his soul — 
 And all the music ringing round his life, 
 And poems stirring in his dying brain. 
 But blessings on him for the songs he sang — 
 Which yearned about the world till then for birth ! 
 How 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 
 
 crown ; 
 And trampled Womanhood sprang up ennobled ! 
 The human soul looked radiantly through rags ! 
 And there was melting of cold hearts, as when 
 The ripening sunlight fingers frozen flowers. 
 
 43 
 
O ! blessings on him for the songs he sang ! 
 When all the stars of happy thought had set 
 In many a mind, his spirit walked the gloom 
 Clothed on with beauty, as the regal Moon 
 Walks her night-kingdom, turning clouds to light. 
 Our Champion ! with his heart too big to beat 
 In bonds, — our Poet in his pride of power ! 
 Aye, we'll remember him who fought our fight, 
 And chose the Martyr's robe of flame, and spurned 
 The gold and purple of the glistering slave. 
 His Mausoleum is the People's heart, 
 There he lies crowned and glorified, — in state. 
 
 Many of Europe's most competent and 
 conscientious critics have expressed their 
 appreciation of the high order of much of 
 Mr. Massey's poetical work. " I rejoice/' 
 wrote John Euskin to the poet, "in ac- 
 knowledging my own debt of gratitude to 
 you for many an encouraging and noble 
 thought, and expression of thought. Few 
 national services can be greater than that 
 you have rendered." Thomas Aird, in 
 a critical review, observed : " Gerald 
 
 44 
 
Massey belongs to the new choir. Pathos 
 and love and a purple flush of beauty 
 steep the color of all his songs." The 
 eminent essayist, Walter Bagehot, in criti- 
 cising Mr. Massey' s work, said : " His 
 descriptions of nature show a close ob- 
 server of her ways, and a delicate apprecia- 
 tion of her beauties. His images, however 
 subtle and delicately woven, are never 
 false/' 
 
 Here are some melodious stanzas which 
 tell us of the poet's hope for a brighter 
 tomorrow, a hope which he entertained 
 before his long and careful psychical inves- 
 tigation, led to the positive conviction 
 expressed in his later prose and poetical 
 works : 
 
 Although its features fade in light of unimagined 
 
 bliss, 
 We have shadowy revealings of the Better World 
 
 in this : 
 
 45 
 
A little glimpse, when Spring unveils her face and 
 
 opes her eyes, 
 Of the Sleeping Beauty in the soul that wakes in 
 
 Paradise. 
 
 A little drop of Heaven in each diamond of the 
 
 shower, 
 A breath of the Eternal in the fragrance of each 
 
 flower ! 
 
 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 hands 
 
 and try 
 To glad the heart of man, and lift to Heaven his 
 
 grateful eye. 
 
 A little semblance mirrored in old Ocean's smile or 
 
 frown 
 Of His vast glory who doth bow the Heavens and 
 
 come down ! 
 
 A little symbol shining through the worlds that 
 
 move at rest 
 On invisible foundations of the broad Almighty 
 
 breast ! 
 
 40 
 
A little hint that stirs and thrills the wings we fold 
 
 within, 
 And tells of that full heaven yonder which must 
 
 here begin ! 
 
 A little springlet welling from the fountain head 
 
 above, 
 That takes its earthly way to find the ocean of 
 
 all love ! 
 
 A little silver shiver in the ripple of the river 
 Caught from the light that knows no night foreve r 
 and forever ! 
 
 A little hidden likeness, often faded or defiled, 
 Of the great, the good All-father, in His poorest 
 human child ! 
 
 Although the best be lost in light of unimagined 
 
 bliss, 
 We have shadowy revealings of the Better World 
 
 in this. 
 
 As I have said before, there is little 
 doubt but that Gerald Massey would have 
 become one of England's most famous lyric 
 poets, had he chosen to confine his gifts to 
 
 47 
 
subjects pleasing to wealth and convention- 
 alism ; but, like other royal souls, who 
 throughout the past have persistently held 
 to the path of duty, he chose to be loyal to 
 truth and faithful to earth's oppressed, ever 
 preferring the bread of poverty with the 
 approval of his higher self, to the applause 
 of the dilettanti with a life of comparative 
 ease. Such spirits are rarely appreciated 
 until they have passed from earth. They 
 belong to the Royalty of Nature ; they 
 are in truth the Sons of God. 
 
 43 
 
" Immortal Liberty, we see thee stand, 
 Like morn just stepped from heaven, tifion a mountain." 
 
if. Gbe propbet 
 
 ►HE reformer is always the possi- 
 ble prophet. He whose nature 
 is so finely strung and whose 
 conscience so sensitive to the eternal 
 verities as they relate to right and wrong 
 that he feels injuries inflicted upon the 
 unfortunate and injustice practised upon 
 the defenceless as though the evil fell 
 upon himself, sustains an intimate rela- 
 tionship to the highest as well as the 
 humblest expressions of life. If the cry of 
 the wretch under the wheel wrings his 
 heart, he is also soothed by divine sympho- 
 nies, which those of duller sensibilities are 
 unconscious of ; and upon his spiritual per- 
 ception there frequently flash the lights 
 and shadows of the coming morrow. It 
 
 49 
 
was thus with the great prophets of Israel. 
 It was thus with John Huss and Savon- 
 arola. It was thus with Whittier and 
 Wendell Phillips. And it is thus, in a very 
 marked 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, that 
 inspires the following thrilling lines, which 
 are peculiarly appropriate to our present 
 social conditions, when a new-born sense of 
 right and a quickened intelligence are 
 leading millions throughout civilization to 
 demand a fairer share in the bounties of 
 life: — 
 
 Immortal liberty ! we see thee stand 
 
 Like morn just stepped from heaven upon a 
 mountain 
 With beautiful feet, and blessing- laden hand, 
 
 And heart that welleth love's most living fountain! 
 Oh, when wilt thou draw from the people's lyre 
 
 Joy's broken cord ? and on the people's brow 
 
 50 
 
Set empire's crown ? light up thine altar-fire 
 
 Within their hearts, with an undying glow ; 
 Nor give us blood for milk, as men are drunk with 
 now? 
 
 Old legends tell us of a golden age, 
 
 When earth was guiltless — gods the guests of 
 men, 
 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 smart — 
 
 Mind is the only diadem of power. 
 People, it ripens now ! Awake, and strike the hour ! 
 
 Hearts, 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, 
 
 The future bursts upon them, boundless, star- 
 ried — 
 They weep repentant tears, that they so long have 
 tarried. 
 
 51 
 
The spiritual intuition or perception of 
 the true prophet soul was beautifully 
 expressed in the legend of the despairing 
 sage. The story comes from that far- 
 away time when types and symbols were 
 used by the children of earth, and when 
 man was so near to nature that at times he 
 seemed 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 eyes 
 against the temptations of luxury and ease 
 which were held out to lure him from the 
 service of his race. He had dwelt with 
 poverty and had nursed the plague-stricken, 
 had fed the starving, always striving to 
 fix the eyes of his fellow-men upon that 
 which was enduring and divine. He rea- 
 soned with scholars on the higher philos- 
 ophy of life, and strove to impress upon 
 them the kinship of mankind. He appealed 
 to the rich to be just, and boldly assailed 
 
 52 
 
tyranny and oppression. Often he had to 
 fly from city to city, and sometimes he was 
 offered great bribes to hold his peace. But 
 neither the threat of power nor the bribe 
 of wealth swerved him from his course. 
 His all-consuming desire was to bring about 
 the realization of the dream which haunted 
 his soul. He longed to behold justice, 
 peace and love blossom among the children 
 of men. 
 
 At length he became a very old man; 
 his hair was silvered, his face bronzed and 
 furrowed, his step halting and feeble. 
 Many who had followed him when he had 
 been able to minister to their physical needs 
 now fell away, and the seeds he had 
 planted seemed to have rotted and died. 
 One day he sought the solitude of the 
 moutains and in bitterness of soul prayed 
 that he might die; in his depression of 
 spirit it seemed to him that he had lived 
 in vain, and the future appeared to be in 
 
 53 
 
the possession of the powers of darkness. 
 Virtue, love and peace seemed routed all 
 along the line of human endeavor. . 
 
 While lost in prayer, so runs this legend, 
 the sage became overcome with a sense 
 of peace known only to the victor in a 
 glorious cause. Then the heaviness of 
 earth fell away ; his soul entered an ecsta- 
 tic condition ; his spirit was borne aloft in 
 a chariot of luminous clouds upheld and 
 guided by invisible hands. At length his 
 eyes were opened, when lo ! he was encom- 
 passed by a multitude of radiant souls. 
 Then his ears caught the symphony of 
 nature; he was bewildered. The multi- 
 tudes around him were incarnations of 
 light, of purity, of love and wisdom. They 
 were victors, and the music which swelled 
 upon 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 
 
 54 
 
thy vision. Now behold the work of thy 
 life." 
 
 Then to him was given the power of the 
 Universal Eye. He beheld a home where 
 now dwelt a father, once a plague-stricken 
 boy nursed by the sage. The father sang 
 to his son the songs of love, courage and 
 brotherhood which he had learned from 
 the prophet long years ago. In another 
 cottage he beheld a mother telling the 
 story of the great man whose life made all 
 men better, and through whose loving care 
 the mother was then alive. And he noted 
 the radiance in the faces of the eager 
 children as they exclaimed, " We want to 
 be like him ! " 
 
 Then he beheld one whom he had taught 
 in years gone by discoursing to a vast mul- 
 titude upon the truths which the prophet 
 had in former days impressed upon his 
 brain. He saw thousands of eager ears 
 strained to hear the evangel which fell 
 
 55 
 
from the eloquent lips of one he had 
 known as a ragged boy. who had followed 
 him from village to village with other 
 poor people. And then the panorama 
 broadened, until he beheld that he had 
 all unconsciously kindled fires for truth 
 which should yet illuminate his people. 
 
 Then the angel said, " Look once more/' 
 and he beheld the tumult of battle, he 
 heard the screams of the multitude, who 
 sank on every hand. After the battle came 
 injustice and oppression ; he heard the cry 
 of those under the oppressor and beheld 
 the sufferings of the world ; and as in 
 horror he sought the angel's face, a light 
 dawned. It came from the hearts and 
 homes of the multitudes. Then the light 
 grew brighter; it spread from hut to 
 cottage, from cottage to palace. A new 
 conflict was in progress. Man met man in 
 a struggle on a higher plane ; ideas were 
 weapons more often than swords, and in 
 
 56 
 
the dim future the sage saw the whole 
 world 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 and 
 responsive to the suffering and misery of 
 life, also catch the strains of the higher 
 music. Their eyes, which see the suffering 
 of the unfortunate and the poor as though 
 every trial was their own, also at intervals 
 catch glimpses of the coming day. In 
 one of these great visions Gerald Massey 
 breaks into the following triumphant 
 strain : 
 
 5 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 ground 
 
 When it awakes the world in wonder ; 
 But we have felt it gathering round — 
 
 Have heard its voice of distant thunder ! 
 ' Tis coming ! yes, 'tis coming ! 
 
 57 
 
'Tis coming now, that glorious time 
 
 Foretold 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 wrought ! 
 
 Now the crowned hopes of centuries blossom ; 
 The lightning of their living thought 
 
 Is 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 write the future's page 
 
 To our humanity more truthful ; 
 There's a divinity within 
 
 That 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 ; 
 
 58 
 
Light up with joy the poor man's heart, 
 
 And love's own world with smiles more sunny ! 
 ' Tis coming ! yes, 'tis coming ! 
 
 Jesus, who was the supreme expression 
 of love, was terrible in His denunciations 
 when confronted by the hypocrisy and 
 selfishness of slothful, self-indulgent con- 
 ventionalism. Gerald Massey has penned 
 some of the sweetest lines ever written by 
 poet of the people, but when he faces the 
 plunderers of the toiling millons, when he 
 looks upon the hypocrite and oppressor, he 
 becomes transformed. His words are no 
 longer soothing and peaceful ; the limpid 
 brook becomes a roaring torrent. The 
 voice which speaks in the following lines 
 is not the voice of one man, but the articu- 
 late cry of millions, thrown into speech 
 by the instrument of God, that the wise 
 may be warned, and, being warned, may be 
 saved from the ruin which must and will 
 overtake that society which selfishly imag- 
 
 59 
 
ines it can eternally thwart the upward 
 march 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 of 
 Israel, who championed the cause of God 
 and the poor at the risk of life, and uttered 
 luminous truths which still light up mans 
 pathway. Mr. Massey is nothing if not a 
 fearless reformer. He does not believe in 
 a half loaf when justice is the issue. The 
 
 60 
 
people have certain rights of which they 
 are deprived by the special privileges 
 enjoyed by a favored few. Against 
 these wrongs, which are day by day becom- 
 ing more apparent to thoughtful and truly 
 enlightened men and women, our poet 
 speaks with that courage and sincerity 
 which is as refreshing as it is rare in our 
 age of sycophancy : — 
 
 Thus saith the Lord : You weary me 
 
 With prayers, and waste your own short years ; 
 Eternal truth you cannot see 
 
 Who weep, and shed your sight in tears ! 
 In vain you wait and watch the skies — 
 
 No 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 own her for a grave ! 
 
 And will you die like slaves, and see 
 Your mother left a fettered thrall ! 
 
 61 
 
Xay live like men and set her free 
 As heritage for all. 
 
 In the same strain, and speaking not as 
 an individual but as the articulate voice of 
 eternal justice, Mr. Massey elsewhere utters 
 these 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 lands 
 
 You 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 land 
 Of paupers, prisons, graves ! 
 
 62 
 
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 same 
 radical and uncompromising stand for 
 absolute justice for the lowliest. In one 
 place he says : — 
 
 " We mean to have a day of reckoning 
 with the unjust stewards of the earth. 
 We mean to have the national property 
 restored to the people. We mean that the 
 land, with its inalienable right of living, 
 its mineral wealth below the soil and its 
 waters above, shall be open to all. We 
 mean to have our banking done by the 
 state, and our railways worked for the 
 benefit of the whole people. We mean to 
 
 63 
 
temper the terror of rampart individualism 
 with the principles of co-operation. We 
 mean for woman to have perfect equality 
 with man, social, religous and political, and 
 her fair share in that equity which is of no 
 sex. We mean also that the same stand- 
 ard of morality shall apply to the man as 
 to the woman. In short, we intend that 
 the redress of wrongs and the righting of 
 inequalities, which can only be rectified in 
 this world, shall not be put off and post- 
 poned to any future stage of existence.' ' 
 
 In another place he asserts with empha- 
 sis : — 
 
 " Humanity is one. The Eternal intends 
 to show us that humanity is one. And the 
 family is more than the individual mem- 
 ber, the Nation is more than the family, 
 and the human race is more than the 
 nation. And if we do not accept the 
 revelation lovingly, do not take to the fact 
 kindly, why then 'tis flashed upon us 
 
 64 
 
terribly, by lightning of hell, if we will not 
 have it by light of heaven — and the poor, 
 neglected scum and canaille of the nations 
 rise 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 poor 
 of London do not live, but fester in the 
 pestilential hovels called their homes. To 
 get into these you have to visit courts 
 which the sun never penetrates, which are 
 never visited by a breath of fresh air, and 
 which never know the virtues of a drop of 
 cleansing water. Immorality is but the 
 natural outcome of such a devil's spawning 
 ground. The poverty of many who strive 
 to live honestly is appalling. 
 
 " And this disclosure is made with the 
 customary moan that such people attend 
 neither church nor chapel, as if that were 
 the panacea. I should not wonder if these 
 revelations result in the building of more 
 
 65 
 
churches and chapels, and the consecration 
 of at least one or two more bishops. 
 
 " The Bishop of Bedford said the other 
 day, ' It was highly necessary that in these 
 times when the poor have so little earthly 
 enjoyment, the joys of heaven should be 
 made known to them.' It is not possible 
 to caricature an utterance so grotesque as 
 that." 
 
 In his songs of humanity, there is the 
 calm assurance of the philosopher, that 
 right will ultimately prevail. He pleads for 
 the millions under the rod. He may not 
 see the false falling away around him, but 
 far up the mountain slope he sees the 
 purpling dawn growing brighter. Looking 
 backward he perceives that the present, 
 with its hideousness and wrong is not, so 
 dark as the past, and with that trust in the 
 final triumph of right which makes him 
 optimistic, he thus refers to his songs for 
 the oppressed : — 
 
 66 
 
Let my soags be cited 
 
 As breakers of the peace, 
 Till the wrongs are righted, 
 
 The man-made miseries cease ; 
 Till earth's disinherited 
 Beg no more to earn their bread ; 
 Till the consuming darts of burning day- 
 Shall fire the midnight foxes ; scare away 
 From 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 wrought 
 
 By those who work in clearer light ; 
 In other ways our fight is fought, 
 And other forms fulfill our thought 
 
 Made visible to all men's sight. 
 
 i » j 
 
 There is a certain thought-compelling 
 power in many of his poems of labor found 
 only in the work of an enthusiast, mad 
 with divine love for his fellow-men. Often 
 he outlines upon his canvas a splendid 
 dream, a big hope, a grand aspiration, and 
 
 67 
 
then in the foreground he paints with a 
 few bold strokes a frightful truth. The 
 antithesis is tremendous in its effects, as 
 will be seen in the following stanza : — 
 
 When the heart of one-half the world doth beat 
 
 Akin to the brave and the true, 
 And the tramp of democracy's earth-quaking feet 
 
 Goes thrilling the wide world through — 
 We 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 right ! 
 Our 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 us 
 as if called forth by present-day conditions 
 in our own land. Take for example the 
 following " Cry of the Unemployed," which 
 reveals the profound sympathy and appre- 
 
 6S 
 
ciation felt by our poet for the struggling 
 unfortunates : — 
 
 'Tis hard to be a wanderer through this bright 
 
 world of ours, 
 Beneath a sky of smiling blue, on fragrant paths of 
 
 flowers, 
 With music in the woods, as there were nought but 
 
 pleasure known, 
 Or Angels walked Earth's solitudes, and yet with 
 
 want to groan : 
 To see no beauty in the stars, nor in Earth's wel- 
 come smile, 
 To wander cursed with misery ! willing, but cannot 
 
 toil. 
 With burning sickness at my heart, I sink down 
 
 famished : 
 God of the Wretched, hear my prayer : I would that 
 
 I were dead ! 
 
 Heaven droppeth down with manna still in many a 
 
 golden shower, 
 And feeds the leaves with fragrant breath, with 
 
 silver dew the flower. 
 Honey and fruit for Bee and Bird, with bloom 
 
 laughs out the tree, 
 
And food for all God's happy things ; but none 
 
 gives food to me. 
 Earth, wearing plenty for a crown, smiles on my 
 
 aching eye, 
 The purse-proud, — swathed in luxury, — disdainful 
 
 pass me by : 
 I've willing hands, and eager heart — but may not 
 
 work for bread ! 
 God of the Wretched, hear my prayer : I would 
 
 that I were dead ! 
 
 Gold, art thou not a blessed thing, a charm above 
 
 all other, 
 To shut up hearts to Nature's cry, when brother 
 
 pleads with brother ? 
 Hast thou a music sweeter than the voice of loving 
 
 kindness V 
 No ! curse thee, thou'rt a mist 'twixt God and men 
 
 in outer blindness. 
 " Father, come back " ! my Children cry ; thei r 
 
 voices, once so sweet, 
 Now pierce and quiver in my heart ! I cannot, dare 
 
 not meet 
 The looks that make the brain go mad, for dear 
 
 ones asking bread — 
 God of the Wretched, hear my prayer : I would 
 
 that I were dead ! 
 
 70 
 
Lord ! what right have the poor to wed ? Love 's 
 
 for the gilded great : 
 Are they not formed of nobler clay, who dine off 
 
 golden plate ? 
 'Tis the worst curse of Poverty to have a feeling 
 
 heart : 
 Why can I not, with iron grasp, choke out the 
 
 tender part ? 
 I cannot slave in yon Bastille! I think 'twere 
 
 bitterer pain, 
 To wear the Pauper's iron within, than drag the 
 
 Convict's chain. 
 I'd work but cannot, starve I may, but will not beg 
 
 for bread : 
 God of the Wretched, hear my prayer: I would 
 
 that I were dead ! 
 
 The slow progress of justice frequently 
 makes the faint-hearted waver, and many 
 who start out in youth brave and valiant 
 reformers are lured into the toils of sloth- 
 ful conventionalism, others become des- 
 pondent and give up even before the sun 
 of life has crossed the meridian. To such 
 
 71 
 
faltering ones Gerald Massey speaks in 
 these 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 thou 
 art living 
 A life only cheered by the lamp of its love . 
 Hold on ! Freedom's hope to the bounden ones 
 giving; 
 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 
 graves : 
 Immortal 's the faith and the freedom they cher- 
 ished, 
 Their lone Triumph-cry stirs the spirits of slaves! 
 
 72 
 
Thej'- are gone, — but a Glory is left in our life, 
 Like the day-god 's last kiss on the darkness of 
 Even - 
 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 despite 
 Nurse the faith in thy heart, keep the lamp of 
 Truth 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 revealed 
 
 In our lives, in our words, in our warfare for 
 man ; 
 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 of 
 Truth bright, 
 And, my life for thine ! it shall end in the Right. 
 
 And to the faint heart who would turn 
 aside because the multitude fail to appre- 
 
 73 
 
ciate the single-hearted struggle made for 
 them, 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 mark 
 
 Thy 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 vain 
 
 While 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- 
 ing 
 For better things ; nor crush thy ardour's trust, 
 That Error from the mind shall be uprooted, 
 That Truth shall flower from all this tear-dewed 
 dust, 
 And Love be cherished where Hate was em- 
 bruted ! 
 
 Hope on, hope ever. 
 
 74 
 
I know ' tis hard to bear the sneer and taunt, — 
 
 With the heart's honest pride at midnight wres- 
 tle ; 
 To feel the killing canker-worm of Want 
 
 While rich rogues in their mocking luxury nestle ; 
 For I have felt it. Yet from Earth's cold Real 
 
 My 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 night 
 
 Comes full of loving life, the laughing Morning ; 
 Hope on, hope ever! Spring-tide, flushed with 
 
 light, 
 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 another ! 
 Hope on, hope ever. 
 
 In this little poem, entitled " The Kingli- 
 est Kings," the poet makes the same 
 stirring appeal to the conscience of the 
 individual : — 
 
 75 
 
Ho ! ye who in noble work 
 
 Win scorn, as flames draw air, 
 And in the way where Lions lurk, 
 
 God's image bravely bear ; 
 Though trouble-tried and torture-torn, 
 The kingliest Kings are crowned with thorn. 
 
 Life's glory like the bow in heaven, 
 
 Still springeth from the cloud ; 
 Soul ne'er out-soared the starry Seven 
 
 But 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 brow 
 
 Doth 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. 
 
 76 
 
Such work is very effective. It gives 
 the glorious ideal to which the noblest of 
 earth's children aspire, and then it turns 
 the flash-light upon the heinous crimes 
 which easy-going conventionalism tolerates. 
 The reformer beholds the wrong in all its 
 enormity. He utters a cry of horror. The 
 slow-thinking people are aroused by the 
 cry, and they ask, Can such things be ? 
 They raise the question, and an agitation 
 is commenced which, sooner or later, ends 
 in victory for justice. The exclamation 
 and interrogation points are the staff and 
 crook of progress. I shall close my ex- 
 tracts from Mr. Massey's inspiring songs of 
 labor by giving two stanzas from " The 
 Awakening ": — 
 
 Oh! earth has no sight half so glorious to see, 
 As a people up-girding its might to be free. 
 
 To see men awake from the slumber of ages, 
 
 Their brows grim from labor, their hands hard 
 and tan, 
 
 77 
 
Start up living heroes, long dreamt-of by Sages ! 
 
 And smite with strong arm the oppressors of 
 man: 
 To see them come dauntless forth 'mid the world's 
 warring, 
 
 Slaves of the midnight mine ! Serfs of the sod ! 
 Show 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 Humanity ! 
 
 Dash down the cup from your lips, O ye Toilers! 
 Too long hath the world bled for Tyrant's insanity — ■ 
 Too 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 ! 
 
 78 
 
Mr. Massey has labored throughout his 
 life for the oppressed in every condition 
 of ignorance and superstition. Wherever 
 man, woman, or child has suffered through 
 injustice, his voice has leaped forth in 
 defence of the wronged, and against the 
 wrong-doer he has waged an incessant 
 warfare. He has boldly championed the 
 cause of woman, steadfastly demanding for 
 her that full-orbed justice which she must 
 receive before the higher civilization will 
 be assured. And in the nineteenth cen- 
 tury no philosopher or reformer has 
 pleaded more earnestly for the rights of 
 children, and that their lives be permitted 
 to unfold under the best possible condi- 
 tions, than this pure-souled, earnest man. 
 
 We are entering a struggle which will 
 prove the most momentous Western civili- 
 zation has ever known, because the con- 
 flict is along every line of advance. Social 
 and economic problems, or the theory of 
 
 79 
 
man's relationship to man and to society 
 as a whole ; the problem of religion, the 
 realm of psychical science, the rights of 
 woman, the requirements and possibilities 
 of childhood — these are some of the ques- 
 tions around which the forces of conserva- 
 tism and progress are already rallying for 
 a sanguinary conflict. Upon all these ques- 
 tions Mr. Massey has spoken, and spoken 
 in no uncertain voice. And, what is more 
 important, he has always placed himself 
 squarely on the side of progress and the 
 dawn. Therefore I believe that the gener- 
 ation of the future, who will enjoy, in a 
 measure, the fruits of the higher and truer 
 life for which the prophet worked, will 
 appreciate his splendid services, and en- 
 shrine his name among the immortal coterie 
 who placed truth and the good of their 
 fellow-men above the comforts of life or 
 the applause of the world. 
 
HI. Gbe flD^stic. 
 
 •HE prophet and mystic must 
 not be confused with the 
 priest, for, speaking broadly, 
 the two represent widely divergent 
 spheres of thought. The prophet is 
 the herald of progress. He assails out- 
 grown beliefs, entrenched wrongs, and con- 
 ventional injustice. He points from the 
 half truths which were once helpful step- 
 ping stones, but which now retard man's 
 onward march, to the broader vision which 
 the future presents. His eye rests on the 
 luminous peaks which lie before. He has 
 unbounded faith in freedom. He is often a 
 destroyer of the old, but it is that the new 
 may rise in fairer forms and be of more 
 enduring character. If he tears down the 
 
log cabin, it is that he may erect the mar- 
 ble palace. 
 
 The priest, on the other hand, is the 
 defender of conservatism. He distrusts 
 the new. To him the prophet is a destruc- 
 tionist who ignores that which age has 
 sanctified and time made venerable. He 
 fears that wider liberty and greater knowl- 
 edge will prove dangerous. He worships 
 at the shrine of the past. What is written, 
 or what other ages have believed, is, in a 
 certain way, sacred to him. The question, 
 Is it true ? breaks powerless as waves 
 before the precipice, when it beats against 
 his prejudice and the veneration with 
 which he views the established order which 
 has been sanctified by time. The priest is 
 the bulwark of conventionalism. 
 
 This contrast is strikingly illustrated in 
 the 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 
 
 S2 
 
the relative attitude of the two great 
 spheres of thought represented by these 
 classes. On the one side was Jesus, the 
 prophet and mystic ; on the other, the 
 priesthood, upholding the past and defend- 
 ingconditions as they existed. Jesus cried, 
 " Ye have heard it said, ' An eye for an 
 eye,' but I say, Love your enemies." 
 Jesus disregarded the ceremonials, the 
 dogmas, and the forms held sacred by the 
 church. He was a Sabbath breaker. He 
 mingled with publicans and sinners. He 
 healed the sick in a way entirely irregular. 
 His teachings were regarded as sacrilegious 
 and essentially dangerous to the established 
 order. The great prophet and mystic 
 pointed to the higher altitudes of spiritual 
 attainment. He drew inspiration from the 
 lily of the field. The gold of morning and 
 the flaming scarlet of the evening, the stars 
 and blue Galilee, spoke more eloquently to 
 him of his Father than did the stories of 
 
 S3 
 
bloody strife in which the God of love was 
 represented as ordering defenceless women 
 and innocent babes to be mercilessly slain. 
 The priesthood then, as has been ever the 
 case, worshipped at the tomb of yesterday's 
 thought and drew inspiration from the 
 ideals of earlier ages, which time had made 
 first venerable and then sacred in the eyes 
 of man. It naturally regarded him at first 
 with apprehension, later with alarm, and 
 finally the fear of its members expressed 
 itself in a deadly hate which ended in his 
 martydom. It was repetition of history. 
 The reputation and life of the prophet are 
 always in danger. He will be misrepre- 
 sented, slandered and misjudged, if he 
 escape the penalty of the death sentence 
 At rare intervals the soul of the prophet 
 and mystic has been found under the robes 
 of a priest, but here usually the priesthood 
 has been arrayed against the iconoclast. 
 Savonarola was a conspicious example of 
 this class. 
 
 84 
 
In the sphere of religion the prophet is 
 ever the advance courier of truth. He 
 blazes the way for the groping multitude. 
 He is impelled onward by the divine 
 afflatus. He is always disquieting. He 
 stimulates reason. He awakes the soul 
 life. He points to the lily and says, Con- 
 sider. He turns to the sky, glorious in the 
 splendor of dawn or spangled with the 
 silver of night, and exclaims, Behold! He 
 takes up the record of the past, and, in a 
 word, warns against unlimited scepticism 
 and blind credulity. Do not, he urges, 
 reject as wholly worthless, or accept as 
 entirely divine, the accumulated wisdom 
 and follies of ancient days, but search for 
 the truth. He looks into the faces of the 
 thoughtful and says, Come, let us reason 
 together. Consider — behold — search — 
 reason! Thus does the prophet awaken 
 the soul of man. He calls to the sleeping 
 ego to be something more than an animal. 
 
 85 
 
He arouses the divine life, calls into action 
 the higher potentialities of the man's be- 
 ing, and in this way is a saviour to the 
 individual as well as a torch bearer to 
 civilization. 
 
 I speak of the prophet and mystic as 
 one ; for in truth the distinction is rather 
 of degree than of nature; or, to be more 
 accurate, they are different manifestations 
 of the divine in man. The prophet is an 
 engine in action. He is an aggressive 
 power for righteousness now and here. 
 He mingles with the suro-ino; tide of g;ood 
 and evil, a warrior for justice and truth. 
 The mystic ascends the mountains of spirit- 
 uality and drinks deeply from the divine 
 fountains. The truths of God steal into his 
 soul silently and with an all-pervading 
 influence, as comes the evening dew or 
 the soft light of day. We are told 
 that Jesus, on occasions, doubtless when 
 weary with battling against the powers 
 
 86 
 
of evil on every side, and sick at heart for 
 poor, suffering humanity, withdrew into 
 the 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 human 
 strife. He posesses a strong intuitional 
 nature. His interior vision is pretematur- 
 ally developed. He hears, sees, and with- 
 in his soul knows many things which elude 
 the grasp of the self-seeking, business- 
 enthralled struggler upon earth's restless 
 highways. Some time ago I visited a 
 friend who is a scientist and a deep student 
 of the vibratory law. Taking down an 
 instrument somewhat resembling a horn, 
 he handed it to me. I put it to my ear 
 and instantly I heard a great roaring in 
 the room — a noise suggestive of a com- 
 ing storm. I had merely been able to 
 gather some of the noises present, which 
 without the instrument, had escaped my 
 
 87 
 
hearing. Doubtless the reader has often 
 tried the same experiment with a shell. 
 Now, the interior nature of the mystic is so 
 thoroughly awake that his vision penetrates 
 farther than those in whom the spiritual 
 nature is less sensitive, and in moments of 
 exaltation he beholds humanity with face 
 set toward the sky — humanity moving 
 slowly, and often with halting step, but 
 ever moving God ward. He hears the voice 
 of the Infinite, and knows that the ulti- 
 mate end of all is Good. He speaks the 
 words he hears unto those whose eyes are 
 fixed upon the stars. 
 
 Sometimes he descends to the seething, 
 struggling world below, where, tiger-like, 
 man devours his fellow-men. Then the 
 mystic not unfrequently becomes the 
 prophet and reformer. In Jesus, we see 
 the perfect blending — the mystic, prophet 
 and reformer ; and in our own time we 
 have frequently seen this trinity in unity. 
 
 88 
 
The poet Whittier affords a striking illus- 
 tration in point. When confronting in- 
 justice and inhumanity the sweet-souled 
 Quaker poet became a veritable Isaiah. 
 His anti-slavery verses reveal a soul lost 
 to self and fear, a brain on fire with holy 
 indignation. His words burn into the 
 heart ; they fire but do not sear the con- 
 science. They reveal to us a man whose 
 love of justice and freedom has consumed 
 all baser thought. Hear this heart-cry for 
 the honor of the Old Bay State : — 
 
 O my God ! — for that free spirit, which of old in 
 
 Boston town 
 Smote 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 lie ! 
 Perish banks and perish traffic, spin your cottons' 
 
 latest pound, 
 But in Heaven's name keep your honor, — keep the 
 
 heart o' the Bay State sound ! " 
 
 89 
 
So also, in this stanza from " The Crisis," 
 we are reminded of the prophet, who 
 speaks with an authority from within, in 
 bold contrast to the diffident, retiring and 
 mild-mannered Quaker : — 
 
 The crisis presses on us; face to face with us it 
 
 stands, 
 With solemn lips of question, like the Sphinx in 
 
 Egypt's sands ! 
 This day we fashion destiny, our web of fate we 
 
 spin ; 
 This day for all hereafter choose we holiness or 
 
 sin ; 
 Even now from starry Gerizim, or Ebal's cloudy 
 
 crown, 
 We call the dews of blessing or the bolts of cursing 
 
 down! 
 
 From the heat and turmoil of the great 
 moral battles which so profoundly aroused 
 the prophet soul, we turn to the poet after 
 he has withdrawn from the forum of public 
 contention — after he has ascended the 
 
 90 
 
mountain, if you will — and hear the calm- 
 voiced mystic utter thoughts which flood 
 his soul as the moonlight floods the snow- 
 crowned mountain peaks : — 
 
 Yet sometimes glimpses on my sight, 
 Through present wrong, the eternal right ; 
 And step by step, since time began, 
 I see the steady gain of man ; 
 
 That all of good the past hath had 
 Remains to make our own time glad, 
 Our common, daily life divine, 
 And every land a Palestine. 
 
 Through the harsh noises of our day 
 A low sweet prelude finds its way ; 
 Through clouds of doubt and creeds of fear, 
 A light is breaking, calm and clear. 
 
 That song of love, now low and far, 
 Ere long shall swell from star to star! 
 That light, the breaking day which tips 
 The golden-spired apocalypse ! 
 
 O friend! we need nor rock nor sand, 
 Nor storied stream of morning-land ; 
 
 91 
 
The heavens are glassed in Merrimac — 
 What more could Jordan render back ? 
 
 We lack but open eye and ear 
 To find the Orient's marvels here — 
 The still small voice in autumn's hush 
 Ton maple wood the burning bush. 
 
 Henceforth my heart shall sigh no more 
 For olden time and holier shore ; 
 God's love and blessing, then and there, 
 Are now and here and everywhere. 
 
 And again he asserts, with that all-sus- 
 taining faith which characterizes the true 
 mystic : — 
 
 There are, who like the seer of old, 
 
 Can see the helpers God has sent, 
 And how life's rugged mountain side 
 
 Is white with many an angel tent ! 
 
 They hear the heralds whom our Lord 
 Sends down His pathway to prepare ; 
 
 And light, from others hidden, shines 
 On their high place of faith and prayer. 
 
 92 
 
Unheard no burdened heart's appeal 
 
 Moans up to God's inclining ear ; 
 Unheeded by His tender eye, 
 
 Falls to the earth no sufferer's tear. 
 
 In Gerald Massey, as in Whittier, we 
 find the union of the prophet, reformer and 
 mystic. I am aware that Mr. Massey does 
 not like the term " mystic/' holding that 
 he advances nothing which has not been 
 proven to him. Perhaps he would prefer 
 the term u Seer." I use it here in its 
 larger sense of seer — a see-er of things 
 wrapped in mystery and obscurity for the 
 mass of men. This gives the word 
 " Mystic " its truest, noblest sense ; and in 
 this sense I know of no word which so 
 well expresses the meaning I desire to 
 convey. 
 
 We have seen with what superb courage 
 he has assailed entrenched wrongs and 
 popular injustice. We have noted his lofty 
 faith, and caught glimpses of the future 
 
 93 
 
triumph of right through the mirror of his 
 soul. We now pass to notice the poet as a 
 mystic. In the following lines we have 
 a great thought beautifully expressed : 
 
 God hath been gradually forming man 
 In His own image since the world began, 
 And is forever working on the soul, 
 Like sculptor on his statue, till the whole 
 Expression of the upward life be wrought 
 Into some semblance of the Eternal thought. 
 Race after race hath caught its likeness of 
 The Maker as the eyes grew larger with love. 
 
 Here is a companion thought : — 
 
 What you call matter is but as the sheath, 
 Shaped, even as bubbles are, by the spirit-breath. 
 The mountains are but firmer clouds of earth, 
 Still changing to the breath that gave them birth. 
 Spirit aye shapeth matter into view, 
 As music wears the form it passes through. 
 Spirit is lord of substance, matter's sole 
 First cause, formative power, and final goal. 
 
 It will be seen that the poet, while dis- 
 
 94 
 
carding the crude ideas and conceptions of 
 creation which were born in the childhood 
 of the human race, opposes the views popu- 
 lar among certain thinkers, who hold that 
 the human brain is merely an expression 
 of physical evolution, and that the law- 
 governed universe, with art, design and 
 intelligence visible in its every phenome- 
 non, is merely the result of force, working 
 blindly and without intelligence. The 
 wonderful facts demonstrated through hyp- 
 notism, and the results which have crowned 
 the painstaking and careful research of 
 leading scientists in the fields of psychical 
 phenomena, have by external evidence and 
 incontrovertible facts greatly strengthened 
 the position arrived at by the mystic 
 through the intuitional power and acute 
 interior perception. 
 
 Mr. Massey believes that the tree is to 
 be judged by its fruit ; that, according as 
 you have performed the will of the Infinite 
 
 95 
 
One, or expressed the best and truest in 
 your life, you shall be rewarded — or, 
 rather, that every good deed bears the doer 
 upward, every real sin lowers the soul. 
 He teaches the high and wholesome moral- 
 ity that, precisely as we help lift and 
 benefit our fellow-men, our souls blossom 
 into the likeness of divinity ; that it is by 
 deeds of service that the spirit is made 
 royal. His teaching touching the future 
 of the soul is thus clearly set forth : — 
 
 Both heaven and hell are from the human race, 
 And every soul projects its future place : 
 Long shadows of ourselves are thrown before, 
 To wait our coming on the eternal shore. 
 These either cloth us with eclipse and night, 
 Or, as we enter them, are lost in light. 
 
 There is a striking similarity of thought 
 between the above and these lines of Whit- 
 tier, although the imagery is entirely dif- 
 ferent : — 
 
 96 
 
We shape ourselves the joy or fear 
 Of which the coming life is made, 
 
 And fill our future's atmosphere 
 With sunshine or with shade. 
 
 The tissue of the life to be 
 
 We weave with colors all our own, 
 
 And in the fields of destiny 
 We reap as we have sown. 
 
 Mr. Massey, while holding that law runs 
 through the universe and that sin brings 
 its own punishment, does not hold to the 
 frightful old-time doctrine that man, en- 
 vironed by sin and surrounded by tempta- 
 tion, having only a few fleeting years 
 in which to obtain wisdom, is nevertheless 
 doomed to be lost for eternity if he falls by 
 the wayside. Such a belief is abhorrent to 
 so broad, tender and noble a nature as his. 
 On this point he says : — 
 
 I think heaven will not shut forevermore, 
 Without a knocker left upon the door, 
 
 97 
 
Lest some belated traveller should come 
 
 Heart-broken, asking just to die at home, 
 
 So that the Father will at last forgive, 
 
 And looking on His face that soul shall live. 
 
 I think there will be watchmen through the night, 
 
 Lest any, far off, turn them to the light ; 
 
 That He who loved us into life must be 
 
 A Father infinitely fatherly, 
 
 And, groping for Him, these shall find then* way 
 
 From outer dark, through twilight, into day. 
 
 I could not sing the song of harvest home, 
 
 Thinking of those poor souls that never come ; 
 
 I could not joy for harvest gathered in, 
 
 If any souls, like tares and twitch of sin, 
 
 Were flung out by the farmer to the fire, 
 
 Whose smoke of torment, rising higher and higher, 
 
 Should fill the universe forevermore. 
 
 Our science grasps with its transforming hand, 
 Makes real half the tales of wonderland. 
 We turn the deathliest fetor to perfume ; 
 We give decay new life and rosy bloom ; 
 Change filthy rags to paper, virgin white , 
 Make pure in spirit what was foul to sight. 
 Even dead, recoiling force, to a fairy gift 
 Of help is turned, and taught to deftly lift. 
 
 98 
 
How can we think God hath no crucible 
 Save some black country of a burning hell ? 
 Or the great ocean of Almighty power, 
 No scoop to take the life stream from our shore, 
 Muddy and dark, and make it pure once more ? 
 
 Dear God, it seems to me that love must be 
 The missionary of eternity ! 
 Must still find work, in worlds beyond the grave, 
 So long as there's a single soul to save ; 
 Gather the jewels that flash Godward in 
 The dark, down-trodden, toad-like head of sin 
 That all divergent lines at length will meet, 
 To make the clasping round of love complete ; 
 The rift 'twixt sense and spirit will be healed, 
 Before creation's work is crowned and sealed ; 
 The discords cease, and all their strife shall be 
 Resolved in one vast, peaceful harmony. 
 
 Another truth which Mr. Massey fre- 
 quently expresses is the presence of the 
 Infinite One here and now, in opposition to 
 the narrow view that God spake to His 
 children only in ancient times. Like 
 Whittier, he ever teaches that God is 
 
 99 
 
with us now and here, and that none of 
 the glory of other days is absent from our 
 own. In one notable poem he thus 
 sings : — 
 
 There is no gleam of glory gone, 
 
 For those who read in nature's book ; 
 No lack of triumph in their look 
 
 Who stand in her eternal dawn. 
 
 And again, with the calm assurance of 
 the mystic, he says : — 
 
 Not only in old days He bowed 
 
 The heavens and came down ; 
 We, too, were shadowed by the cloud, 
 
 We saw the glory shown ! 
 The nations that seemed dead have felt 
 
 His coming through them thrill : 
 Beneath His tread the mountains melt : 
 
 Our God is living still ! 
 
 He who in secret hears the sigh, 
 
 Interprets every tear, 
 Hath lightened on us from on high, 
 
 Made known His presence near ! 
 
 100 
 
The Word takes flesh, the Spirit form, 
 
 His purpose to fulfil ; 
 He comes in person of the storm — 
 
 Our God who governs still ! 
 
 We saw — all of us saw — how He 
 
 Drew sword and struck the blow, 
 And up and free through their Red Sea 
 
 He bade the captives go : 
 Yea, we have seen Him, clearly seen 
 
 Him work the miracle : 
 We know, whate'er may intervene, 
 
 Our God is with us still ! 
 
 The veil of time a moment falls 
 
 From off the Eternal's face : 
 Recede the old horizon walls 
 
 To give fresh breathing space : 
 And all who lift their eyes may learn 
 
 It is our Father's will, 
 This world to Him shall freely turn, 
 
 A world of freedom still ! 
 
 The traveller in the valley sees little 
 of what is around him. He journeys for a 
 
 101 
 
day up the mountain slope, and his vision 
 is marvellously broadened. Another day's 
 journey toward" the peak reveals a still 
 more glorious panorama, and when he 
 reaches the highest crest an almost infinite 
 expanse stretches on every side. So the 
 barbarian caught a contracted and very 
 partial view of God's love and beauty — 
 his own limitation of vision and the animal 
 passions which overmastered him dulled 
 spiritual perception. But as the race rose 
 through countless ages, the conception of 
 the Infinite became expanded, and as the 
 spirit grew more and more sublimated, the 
 real character of the Deity, uncolored by 
 human prejudice and passion, became ap- 
 parent to the most royal natures. A hint 
 of this thought is given in the last stanza 
 of the above lines. 
 
 Few poets have ever thrown into simple 
 words a more beautiful conception of man's 
 relation to God, or God's broad love and 
 
 102 
 
sympathy for his children, who through 
 past ages have been struggling upward 
 toward the light, than is found in these 
 lines of Mr. Massey's : — 
 
 This human life is no mere looking-glass, 
 
 In which God sees His shadows as you pass. 
 
 He did not start the pendulum of time, 
 
 To go by law with one great swing sublime, 
 
 Resting himself in lonely joy apart : 
 
 But to each pulse of life his beating heart. 
 
 And, as a parent sensitive, is stirred 
 
 By falling sparrow, or heart-winged word. 
 
 As the babe's life within the mother's dim 
 And deaf, you dwell in God, a dream of Him. 
 Ye stir, and put forth feelers which are clasped 
 By airy hands, and higher lif e is grasped 
 As yet but darkly. Life is in the root, 
 And looking heavenward, from the ladder-foot, 
 Wingless as worms, with earthiness fast bound, 
 Up which ye mount but slowly, round on round, 
 Long climbing brings ye to the Father's knee ; 
 Ye open gladsome eyes at last to see 
 That face of love ye felt so inwardly. 
 
 103 
 
In this vast universe of worlds no waif, 
 No spirit, looks to Him but floateth safe ; 
 No prayer so lowly but is heard on high ; 
 And if a soul should sigh, and lift an eye, 
 That soul is kept from sinking with a sigh. 
 
 All life, down to the worm beneath the sod, 
 Hath spiritual relationship to God — 
 The Life of Life, the love of all, in all ; 
 Lord of the large and infinitely small. 
 
 In these verses our poet gives expression 
 to the new religion which is taking posses- 
 sion of the most exalted minds of our day. 
 It is all very well to say that G-od is so 
 much more than the finest expression of 
 the divine in man that we cannot compre- 
 hend Him ; but we cannot use this reason- 
 able assumption to bolster up the unreason- 
 able and impossible one that God's attributes 
 are not in alignment with the most perfect 
 ideal which haunts the noblest brains of 
 the best civilization. There are certain 
 eternal verities, the highest and most splen- 
 ica 
 
did of which is love. These verities are im- 
 mutable and unchanging ; they form a con- 
 stellation upon which the eyes of the noblest 
 and most truly divine in all ages have 
 rested. And as humanity in her slow 
 ascent rises to higher altitudes of civiliza- 
 tion, a greater number come to appreciate 
 the supreme truth that it is only that 
 which is divine in essence which can yield 
 enduring happiness and spiritual peace. 
 The Golden Rule is not peculiar to any one 
 religion. It has been taught in spirit by 
 philosophers, poets and sages throughout 
 the ages. There are certain fundamental 
 principles in ethics which, by common con- 
 sent, the highest and purest souls of all 
 lands and periods have regarded as divine ; 
 and in proportion as man has given ex- 
 pression to the godlike attributes in his life 
 he has approached earth's highest dream 
 of divinity. The lofty ideal which this 
 dream embodies runs like a thread of gold 
 
 105 
 
through every civilization. It was taught 
 by Zoroaster and Confucius, by Gautama 
 and Pythagoras, by the prophets of Israel, 
 and the Stoics of Greece and Rome ; it 
 found glorious expression in the life and 
 teaching of Jesus. God, compared with 
 earth's noblest man, may be as the ocean to 
 the rivulet, as the Himalayas to the ant 
 mound ; but His nature, if He is the in- 
 carnation of what humanity holds as high- 
 est, sweetest and truest, must be all that 
 the most divine expression of manhood is, 
 and inconceivably more than this, in the 
 expression of the divine attributes. He 
 must be the infinite reservoir of all those 
 virtues which make manhood divine ; and 
 being this, He could not do things which 
 would be abhorrent to the noblest man. 
 If at any point throughout the cycle of 
 eternity, He should draw the dead line 
 across which even the weakest of the chil- 
 dren He has called into an eternal existence 
 
 106 
 
might not fly from darkness and pain into 
 the light, purity and love of a better life, 
 He would be guilty of a crime so abhorrent 
 to an exalted and humane earthly parent 
 that the parent himself would rather die 
 than condemn his offspring to such a fate. 
 The supreme truth, that God must be 
 better than the best man instead of worse 
 than the most cruel savage, is the keynote 
 of the new evangel which our nineteenth- 
 century prophets and mystics have given 
 the children of men. That is the thought 
 which Whittier, who, in the truest sense, 
 was a mystic, so forcibly put in the follow- 
 ing lines : — 
 
 I dare not fix with mete and bound 
 The love and power of God. 
 
 * TT TT TV TT 
 
 I see the wrong that round me lies, 
 
 I feel the guilt within ; 
 I hear, with groan and Iravail-cries, 
 
 The world confess its sin. 
 
 107 
 
Yet, in the maddening maze of things, 
 
 And tossed by storm and flood, 
 To one fixed trust my spirit clings : 
 
 I know that God is good ! 
 
 # * # # # 
 
 I know not where His islands lift 
 
 Their fronded palms in air ; 
 I only know I cannot drift 
 
 Beyond His love and care. 
 
 This same thought is further impressively 
 taught in the exquiste little allegorical 
 poem, " The Two Angels," in which Whit- 
 tier gives voice to the conception of God 
 which is the burden of the song of the 
 great poets of our time : — 
 
 God called the nearest angels who dwell with Him 
 
 above ; 
 The tenderest one was Pity, the dearest one wa s 
 
 Love. 
 "Arise," He said, " my angels ! A wail of woe and 
 
 sin 
 Steals through the gates of heaven, and saddens all 
 
 within. 
 
 108 
 
*' My harps take up the mournful strain that from a 
 
 lost world swells, 
 The smoke of torment clouds the light, and blights 
 
 the asphopels. 
 
 "Fly downward to that under world, and on its 
 
 soul* of pain 
 Let Love drop smiles like sunshine, and Pity tears 
 
 like rain ! " 
 
 Two faces bowed before the throne, veiled in their 
 
 golden hair ; 
 Four white wings lessened swiftly down the dark 
 
 abyss of air. 
 
 The way was strange, the flight was long ; at last 
 the angels came 
 
 Where swung the lost and nether world, red-wrap- 
 ped in rayless flame. 
 
 There Pity, shuddering, wept ; but Love, with faith 
 
 too strong for fear, 
 Took heart from God's almightiness, and smiled a 
 
 smile of cheer. 
 
 And lo! that tear of Pity quenched the flame 
 
 whereon it fell, 
 And, with the sunshine of that smile, hope entered 
 
 into hell ! 
 
 109 
 
Two unveiled faces full of joy looked upward to the 
 
 throne, 
 Four white wings folded at the feet of Him who 
 
 sat thereon ! 
 
 And deeper than the sounds of seas, more soft than 
 
 falling flake, 
 Amidst the hush of wing and song the Voice 
 
 Eternal spake : 
 
 " Welcome, my angels ! ye have brought a holier 
 
 joy to heaven ; 
 Henceforth its sweetest song shall be the song of sin 
 
 forgiven ? " 
 
 In one of his last poems, Tennyson, while 
 the light of the other world was silvering 
 his brow, thus expressed this same con- 
 ception : — 
 
 Doubt no longer that the Highest is the wisest and 
 
 the best, 
 Let not all that saddens nature blight thy hope or 
 
 break thy rest, 
 
 # # * # # 
 
 110 
 
Neither mourn if human creeds be lower than the 
 
 heart's desire ! 
 Through the gates that bar the distance comes a 
 
 gleam of what is higher. 
 
 Wait till death has flung them open, when the man 
 
 will make the Maker 
 Dark no more with human hatreds in the glare of 
 
 deathless £r a . ! 
 
 The idea of the Eternal Goodness, in 
 varying phraseology, has been presented 
 by almost all the great poets and prophets 
 of onr own time. Gerald Massey, in one 
 of his terse sentences, says : " Any God 
 who demands the worship of fear is un- 
 worthy the service of love." The new 
 religion goes ont in love to all life. It 
 binds up the bruises of him who has fallen 
 by the wayside. It extends the hand to 
 the sinking. It calls aloud for justice for 
 the weak and oppressed. It denounces 
 tyranny, injustice and whatsoever lowers 
 manhood or degrades womanhood. It de- 
 
 111 
 
mands that the rights of the child and 
 those of the mother be sacredly and inviol- 
 ably kept. It whispers hope and love to 
 the despairing. It gives voice to the words 
 which come from above in the most exalted 
 songs of our time. It teaches the kinship 
 of man to God in such a way that the old- 
 time nightmare disappears. And as the 
 child, with open arms and joyous cry, 
 rushes to meet the loved parent, so do 
 earth's children go to the Father above for 
 that sustaining power and holy peace 
 which through all past time sages have 
 drawn from the Infinite. This thought is 
 beautifully set forth by Mr. Massey in the 
 following lines : — 
 
 There is no pathway Man hath ever trod, 
 By faith or seeking sight, but ends in God. 
 Yet 'tis in vain ye look Without to find 
 The inner secrets of the Eternal mind, 
 Or meet the King on His external throne. 
 But when ye kneel at heart, and feel so lone, 
 
 112 
 
Perchance behind the veil you get the grip 
 
 And spirit-sign of secret fellowship ; 
 
 Silently as the gathering of a tear 
 
 The human want will bring the Helper near: 
 
 The very weakness that is utterest need 
 
 Of God, will draw Him down with strength indeed. 
 
 In the province of religious thought, Mr. 
 Massey has been a herald of the new day. 
 His utterances are deeply spiritual, yet 
 charmingly rational. While recognizing 
 the interior self as the true ego, and fully 
 appreciating the spiritual forces underlying 
 creation, he abhors superstition, and is filled 
 with a holy passion for a more complete 
 knowledge of life. He cannot understand 
 why men should place prejudice above 
 truth, and believes it to be the sacred duty 
 of every man, woman and child, to use the 
 divine torch of reason to guide his steps. 
 He is a thorough believer in evolution, and 
 hails modern science as the handmaid of 
 progress. In a word, Gerald Massey is 
 a child of the dawn. 
 
 113 
 
 J 
 
Civilization's Inferno; or, studies 
 
 in the Social Cellar. By B. O. Flower. 
 
 A bold, unconventional work, which in a merciless manner 
 lays bare the criminal extravagance, the disgusting fhmkyism, 
 and the immorality found in what the author terms the "Froth 
 of Society." 
 
 It fearlessly contrasts the criminal extravagance and moral 
 effeminacy of the slothful rich with the terrible social, moral 
 and physical condition of the ignorant, starving, and degraded 
 poor. 
 
 It carries the reader into the social cellar where uninvited 
 poverty abounds, and from there into the sub-cellar, or the 
 world of the criminal poor. 
 
 It is rich in suggestive hints, and should be in the hands of 
 every thoughtful man and woman in America. 
 
 Absorbingly interesting and at times thrilling, no one can 
 read its pages without being made better for the perusal. 
 
 Table of Contents. — I. Introductory Chapter. II. So- 
 ciety's Exiles. III. Two Hours in the Social Cellar. 
 IV. The Democracy of Darkness. V. Why the Isra- 
 elites Multiply. VI. The Froth and the Dregs. VII. 
 A Pilgrimage and a Vision. VIII. What of the 
 Morrow ? 
 
 Handsomely B«und in Cloth ; Price, 81.00. 
 
 Tne Arena Publishing Company, - Boston, Mass. 
 
Press Criticisms of Civilization's 
 Inferno. 
 
 It is a truthful and graphic delineation of the condition of the people in 
 the social undertow. Mr. Flower has a keen and profound sympathy with 
 the difficulties that the poor are laboring under, and he describes what he 
 has seen with bis own eyes in terms that chill one's blood. He does not 
 hesitate to call things by their right names, and points out the magnitude of 
 the peril, showing that no palliative measures will satisfy people. — Daily 
 Herald, Boston. 
 
 It is a strong appeal to the Christian civilization of the times to arise 
 and change the current of human misery which in these modern times is 
 driving with such resistless force. — Chicago Daily Inter-Ocean. 
 
 A book which should be read and studied by all. Mr. Flower's high 
 enthusiasm, the artistic impulse which has guided his pen, together with his 
 intimate knowledge gained by personal investigation of the matter, make his 
 book most admirable. — Boston Times. 
 
 It is not only the record made of discoveries during a period of system- 
 atic slumming, but it is also a philosophical view of the dangers of the con- 
 ditions which he discusses. — Chicago Times. 
 
 The work is a masterly presentation of social conditions around us. 
 These make a vast problem, and it is by such earnest thinkers as Mr. 
 Flower that they will be solved. — Chicago Herald. 
 
 A thoughtful work by a thoughtful man, and should turn the minds of 
 many who are now ignorant or careless to the condition of the countless 
 thousands who live in the " social cellar." No one can read the book with- 
 out feeling that the author's diagnosis of the case is true and gives each one 
 his own personal responsibility. — Courier Journal, Louisville, Ky. 
 
 This work has created a decided sensation throughout the country, and 
 has raised considerable controversy between the author and other writers 
 on the one hand, and society's leaders on the other. It is a fresh presenta- 
 tion from personal observation of the facts of poverty, destitution, squalor, 
 and oppression that exists in every large city in the world. — Burlington 
 Hawkey e, Burlington, Iowa. 
 
 ii. 
 
Society, as it is now constituted, is nothing less than a sleeping volcano. 
 Who dares to say how soon the upheaval will come, or whether it can be 
 evaded by the adoption of prompt measures of relief ? Certainly the con- 
 dition of the lower social strata calls for immediate action on the part of 
 those whose safety is at stake. Mr. Flower has accomplished a great work, 
 in setting forth the exact truth of the matter, without any effort at palliation. 
 It will be well indeed for the prosperoas classes of the community if they are 
 warned in time. — Boston Beacon. 
 
 What general Booth has done for London and Mr. Jacobs Riis for New 
 York, Mr. Flower has done for cultured Boston. He is a professional man 
 of letters, and tells his story with the skill and knack of his craft. — Daily 
 Constitution, Atlanta, Ga. 
 
 A powerfully written book, presenting facts which ought to move the 
 most sluggish soul to resolve and action. Its whole lesson, sad as it is, is one 
 that needs to be learned ; and we will not detract from its completeness by 
 presenting it in fragments ; but we desire to call special attention to the 
 author's exposition of the facts, concerning which there has been so much 
 scepticism, that the rich are growing richer and the poor poorer. If there 
 is any lingering belief or hope in the mind of anybody that his statement is a 
 mere partisan bugaboo, as it has sometimes been styled, Mr. Flower's 
 book will settle the matter. — Daily Free Press, Detroit, Mich. 
 
 He literally uncaps the pit, the hell on earth; and if there are "the 
 pleasures of sin for a season," ii will be seen that the season is not a long 
 one. The author depicts the scenes he has witnessed, and has the moral 
 purpose — the passion for a better estate — which, enlivening his pages, makes 
 the book as wholesome as it is inciting to practical endeavor. — Christian 
 Leader, Boston. 
 
 In this book the great social problem of the day is laid before the reader 
 in all its importance, its increasing dangers are pointed out, and practical 
 remedies suggested in a way that is as interesting as thoughtful. We are 
 glad to see the fashionable extravagances and vices of the class that assumes 
 for itself the title of " society " treated with the condemnation they deserve. 
 It is a work that has long been needed, and we are sure it will go far toward 
 the end it looks forward to so hopefully. — Nassua Literary Magazine, 
 published by senior class of Princeton University. 
 
 A volume of remarkable interest and power, and merits the careful at- 
 tention of all students of social problems. — Boston Daily Traveller. 
 
The New Time: A Plea for the Union 
 of the Moral Forces for Practical Prog- 
 ress. 
 
 This new work, by the author of " Civilization's Inferno," 
 deals with practical methods for the reform of specific social 
 evils, which are capable of vast diminution and of ultimate 
 abolition. The writer does not bind together a mere bundle 
 of social speculations, that would seem to many to have only 
 a remote and abstract relevance to everyday life. He deals 
 with facts within every one's knowledge. 
 
 The Table of Contents, briefly sketched, gives perhaps the 
 very best idea of its practical aims, both immediate and ultL 
 mate : — 
 
 I. Union for Practical Progress. — The widespread desire for the 
 union of all who wish to help the world onward. — Is it practical ? — Some 
 things which haYe been accomplished. 
 
 II. They Have Fallen into the Winepress. — Olive Schreiner's 
 " Visions of Hell," and its application to present conditions — The out-of- 
 work, homeless ones in our midst — Moral obliquity in the young — Edu- 
 cation, justice and freedom the remedies — Some suggestive hints. 
 
 III. Jesus or Cesar. — The opportunity of the Church — The rise of 
 the spirit of Caesar — The spirit and teachings of Jesus — -The hope of the 
 republic — How each one may hasten a brighter day. 
 
 IV. The New Time. — The heart-hunger of our time —The work be- 
 fore us — The elevation and emancipation of humanity through education 
 and justice — Crying evils and great reforms which demand the attention of 
 thoughtful people — The duty and responsibility of the individual — Some 
 helpful illustrations — The starving and shelterless Chriss at our door — 
 Fundamental and palliative remedies — Let the next step be evolutionary. 
 
 V. Then Dawned a Light in the East. — A Suggestive lesson 
 from the history of the civilization of two thousand years ago — Society in 
 Rome under the Caesars — The hectic flush of death — Intellectual training 
 without moral culture — An age of artificiality — Civilization in Palestine — 
 The rise of a great, serene soul in the midst of a society permeated by cant 
 and hypocrisy — The three great redemptive words, Faith, Hope and Love; 
 their influence two thousand years ago — Present conditions — Our duty — 
 The present no time for idleness or pessimism — The dawn is purpling the 
 east. 
 
 Handsome Cloth: Price, $1.00- 
 
Press Criticisms of New Time. 
 
 It is a fervent plea for the union and practical co-operation of all those 
 who are interested in the welfare of humanity, and who believe that it is 
 their duly to do their utmost toward alleviating the sufferings of their less 
 fortunate fellow mortals. Mr. Flower is a firm believer in the ultimate 
 triumph of the spirit of fraternity and justice, and in this little book he sug- 
 gests how this spirit may be fostered throughout the United States. 
 There are many loving souls, he claims, in every city, town and village, who 
 would fain spend most of their lives in aiding their fellows, and he main- 
 tains that a wondrous amount of good would be the result if only these 
 scattered children of light could be properly organized. Undoubtedly he is 
 right, and it would not surprise us if this idea took root. We may not all 
 possess Mr. Flower's enthusiasm, but we must all admire the eloquence 
 with which he pictures the " new time " for which he yearns, the time when 
 all men will be brothers and justice will rule the earth. — New York Herald. 
 
 Mr. Flower takes his stand on the side of human progress. In the book 
 ''The New Time," he enters a vigorous, earnest and touching plea for the 
 union of warring sects in the great cause of the amelioration of human 
 misery, whether it arises from poverty or guilt. 
 
 Without being in any respect a sermon, Mr. Flower's work has all the 
 force and convincing power of the pulpit. Indeed it has more, for the pulpit 
 is often enough the vehicle of the denunciation of opposing sects — a fact 
 which occasionally mars its usefulness in the eyes of every reflecting man. 
 Mr. Flower's book touches briefly on the causes of much of human suffering 
 and crime, and proceeds to show how a real and permanent union of Chris- 
 tian workers of all denominations can be achieved and what noble results will 
 spring from such a union. 
 
 Such a union as he points out has long been the dream of the humani- 
 tarian, but up to the present the jealousy of sect has prevented it from being 
 realized. For many years, however, the Christian world has been gradually 
 brought closer together, and the work of consolidation is still going on. The 
 time will probably never come when all religions will be merged in each 
 other, nor is it necessary for the cause of Christian union, as Mr. Flower 
 understands it, that it should. All he pleads for is that the churches should 
 join together in the common cause of elevating the poor and the wretched, 
 nor is it necessary that in so doing they should sacrifice any essential part of 
 their doctrines. 
 
 The Parliament of Religions gave a stronger impetus to the movement 
 for Christian union than anything that has been done or anything that has 
 been written for a couple of centuries past, and that noble conference is 
 bearing and has borne noble fruit. Much, nevertheless, remains to be done. 
 
Hundreds of thousands must be reached by individual persuasion. Much of 
 the literature that is to do this yet remains to be written, but if the writers of 
 it shall model themselves on the liberality, tolerance and true Christianity 
 which characterizes Mr. Flower's work, the end in view may not be so very 
 far off after all. — Daily Jte?n, Philadelphia, Pa. 
 
 The inspiration of a new social order seems to have suddenly assumed the 
 proportions of a contagion. Prophets are springing up all over the land, and 
 new books from every quarter of the globe. The real import of God's love 
 for the world seems to be dawning upon the mind of thinkers for the first 
 time in social history, and reformers are ju?>t beginning to catch the inspira- 
 tion of the Christ-life. These books are by no means accordant as yet, but 
 they are sufficiently harmonious in design to impress the student with the 
 fact that the kingdom of heaven is about to begin on earth. Almost all 
 modern writers on social conditions are so imbued with the altruistic spirit 
 that altruism seems to be the " Elias " of the new era. 
 
 So prominent indeed is this spirit in the ahnve work that one almost 
 feels that its author is the John the Baptist of the time about which he 
 prophesies, and that he should at once demand baptism at his hands — that 
 is, a baptism of his spirit. We cannot have too many such books as this at 
 this time. It was not written for the sake of the book nor its author, but of 
 humanity. It is a plain yet earnest and vigorous presentation of some of our 
 social conditions, with suggestions, not a few of which are entirely practical 
 and full of promise. "It has little of the visionary and speculative in it and 
 proposes immediate action upon practical grounds for the purpose of the 
 earliest possible relief and solution of our troubles. — Christian Evangelist, 
 St. Louis, Mo. 
 
 Like whatever Mr. Flower writes, the book has to do with a. practical, 
 immediate means of helping humanity in the throes of its upward struggle. 
 Humanity as a mass of course contains the leavening lump of spirituality 
 which will ultimately express itself as a matter of course in the very reforms 
 we so much desire. Equally of course do the consciously-spiritual workers 
 assist in this process — this forms one of the pleasures as well as duties of the 
 enlightened state. 
 
 And it is just such an influence as this Union for Practical Progress that 
 sets emotions and movements working which need almost but a touch to 
 overspread the sky with a blaze of glory — the glory of awakened humanity. 
 It is incalculable, the good to be accomplished by concerted plans, organized 
 in individual places but ail with one central purpose and animated by one 
 central desire. The name of the organization is a good one too, appealing to 
 everyone, everywhere. Practical progress is what we need, and aid toward 
 that end cannot fail of eager appreciation. The movement by its nature 
 appeals to the higher faculties, arouses and puts them in working order — 
 and by this means anything may be accomplished. 
 
 In such a cause we know of no one who does more valiant work than 
 Mr. Flower. Convinced of its "righteousness," he will pursue it to its 
 ultimate personaly, and arouse in hostsof others both desire and determina- 
 tion to do likewise. Such work is of inestimable value — and i'i this con- 
 nection everyone should realize that every person is helping his fellow if he 
 but live on the highest plane of which he is conscious, also striving con- 
 stantly to get still higher by helping to raise others. — Boston Ideas. Boston, 
 Mass. 
 
Lessons Learned from Other Lives. 
 
 A BOOK OF SHORT BIOGRAPHIES, WRITTEN 
 FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 
 
 Contents. — I. The Philosopher, Seneca and Epictetus. 
 II. The Warrior Maid, Joan of Arc. III. The 
 Statesman, Henry Clay. IV. The Actor, Edwin 
 Booth, Joseph Jefferson. V. The Poet, John Howard 
 Payne, William Cullen Bryant, Edgar Allan Poe, Alice 
 Cary, Phcebe Cary, J. G. Whittier, VI. The Scientist, 
 Alfred Russel Wallace. VII. The Many-Sided 
 Genius, Victor Hugo. 
 
 PRESS COMMENTS. 
 
 A highly interesting and instructive work. — Daily Telegraph., Hart- 
 ford, Conn. 
 
 A readable and helpful book. Mr. Flower is an earnest, thoughtful, 
 radical, compact writer. Many who gladly read these sketches will be made 
 nobler and braver thereby. — Education, Boston, Mass. 
 
 This is a delightful book to read. It is written with exquisite taste and 
 tenderness. It effloresces with a literary aroma. The author has nought a 
 fair and favored field in which to find mental iumination. His effort is an 
 idyl of life's faire t forms and figures He is a young, brilliant writer. The 
 book sparkles with liteary jewels. — Christian Leader, Cincinnati, O. 
 
 An admirable collection of brief biographical sketches, each teaching by 
 some anecdote or illustration the prominent characteristic of the lite under 
 consideration Among those selected we note Joan of Arc, Henry Clay, 
 Joe Jefferson, Bryant, Poe, Whittier, A. R. Wallace, and Victor Hugo The 
 sketches are brightly written and the salient points in each life well brought 
 out. Many of the best poems of the poets named are given. — 'The states, 
 Nezv Orleans, La. 
 
 B. O. Flower, editor of The Arena, has given to biographical litera- 
 ture one of the most charming books it has ever been our good fortune to 
 read. The book in question is entitled " JLessons Learned from Other 
 Lives." It is written in a delightfully easy style, and many of the lives are 
 of personal friends of the author. — Every Saturday , Elgin, 111. 
 
 The Arena Publishing Company, of Boston, has recently issued an at- 
 tractive volume entitled " Lessons Learned from Other Lives." Mr. B. O. 
 Flower, the well-known editor of The Arena, has given us under this name 
 a number of biief historiettes illustrative of different phases of character. 
 Mr Flowt-r modestly dedicates his work more especially to the young; but 
 the admirable style, the terseness, and keen analysis of the^e ch racter 
 sketches will recommend them to all classes of readers. _ Biography should 
 be especially interesting but not every one has the ability to render it so. 
 Mr Flower has this happy faculty to an unnsual exlent. His essays are 
 equal to his editorials, and more cannot be said. — Rocky Mountain Daily 
 Neuus, Denver, Col.