| |
| IT was Sunday— | |
| Eleven in the morning; people were at church— | |
| Prayers were in the making; God was near at hand— | |
| Down the cramped and narrow streets of quiet Lawrence | |
| Came the tramp of workers marching in their hundreds; | 5 |
| Marching in the morning, marching to the grave-yard, | |
| Where, no longer fiery, underneath the grasses, | |
| Callous and uncaring, lay their friend and sister. | |
| In their hands they carried wreaths and drooping flowers, | |
| Overhead their banners dipped and soared like eagles— | 10 |
| Aye, but eagles bleeding, stained with their own heart’s blood— | |
| Red, but not for glory—red, with wounds and travail, | |
| Red, the buoyant symbol of the blood of all the world. | |
| So they bore their banners, singing toward the grave-yard, | |
| So they marched and chanted, mingling tears and tributes, | 15 |
| So, with flowers, the dying went to deck the dead. | |
| |
| Within the churches people heard | |
| The sound, and much concern was theirs— | |
| God might not hear the Sacred Word— | |
| God might not hear their prayers! | 20 |
| |
| Should such things be allowed these slaves— | |
| To vex the Sabbath peace with Song, | |
| To come with chants, like marching waves, | |
| That proudly swept along. | |
| |
| Suppose God turned to these—and heard! | 25 |
| Suppose He listened unawares— | |
| God might forget the Sacred Word, | |
| God might forget their prayers! | |
| |
| And so (the tragic irony) | |
| The blue-clad Guardians of the Peace | 30 |
| Were sent to sweep them back—to see | |
| The ribald Song should cease; | |
| |
| To scatter those who came and vexed | |
| God with their troubled cries and cares. | |
| Quiet—so God might hear the text; | 35 |
| The sleek and unctuous prayers! | |
| |
| Up the rapt and singing streets of little Lawrence | |
| Came the stolid soldiers; and, behind the bluecoats, | |
| Grinning and invisible, bearing unseen torches, | |
| Rode red hordes of anger, sweeping all before them. | 40 |
| Lust and Evil joined them—Terror rode among them; | |
| Fury fired its pistols; Madness stabbed and yelled. | |
| Through the wild and bleeding streets of shuddering Lawrence, | |
| Raged the heedless panic, hour-long and bitter. | |
| Passion tore and trampled; men once mild and peaceful, | 45 |
| Fought with savage hatred in the name of Law and Order. | |
| And, below the outcry, like the sea beneath the breakers, | |
| Mingling with the anguish, rolled the solemn organ.… | |
| |
| Eleven in the morning—people were at church— | |
| Prayers were in the making—God was near at hand— | 50 |
| It was Sunday! | |
| |
