We have handled him, we have dandled him, we have

seared him to the bone,

And sure if tooth and nail show truth he has no soul

of his own."

The Devil he bowed his head on his breast and

rumbled deep and low:

"I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should bid

him go.

Yet close we lie, and deep we lie, and if I gave him place,

My gentlemen that are so proud would flout me to my face;

They'd call my house a common stews and me a careless host,

And

I would not anger my gentlemen for the sake of a shiftless ghost."

The Devil he looked at the mangled Soul that prayed to feel the flame,

And he thought of Holy Charity, but he thought of his own good name:

"Now ye could haste my coal to waste, and sit ye down to fry:

Did ye think of that theft for yourself?" said he; and Tomlinson said, “Ay!"

The Devil he blew an outward breath, for his heart was free from care:

"Ye have scarce the soul of a louse," he said, "but

the roots of sin are there,

And for that sin should ye come in were I the lord alone. But sinful pride has rule inside-and mightier than

my own.

Honour and Wit, fore-damned they sit, to each his priest and whore:

Nay, scarce I dare myself go there, and you they'd

torture sore.

Ye are neither spirit nor spirk," he said; "ye are
neither book nor brute-

Go, get ye back to the flesh again for the sake of
Man's repute.

I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should mock your pain,

But look that ye win to worthier sin ere ye come back again.

Get hence, the hearse is at your door-the grim black stallions wait

They bear your clay to place to-day. Speed, lest ye come too late!

Go back to Earth with a lip unsealed-go back with an open eye,

And carry my word to the Sons of Men or ever ye come to die:

That the sin they do by two and two they must pay

And... the God that you took from a printed book be with you, Tomlinson!"

L'ENVOI TO "LIFE'S HANDICAP"

My new-cut ashlar takes the light
Where crimson-blank the windows flare;
By my own work, before the night,
Great Overseer I make my prayer.

If there be good in that I wrought,
Thy hand compelled it, Master, Thine;
Where I have failed to meet Thy thought
I know, through Thee, the blame is mine.

One instant's toil to Thee denied

Stands all Eternity's offence,
Of that I did with Thee to guide
To Thee, through Thee, be excellence.

Who, lest all thought of Eden fade,
Bring'st Eden to the craftsman's brain,
Godlike to muse o'er his own trade
And Manlike stand with God again.

The depth and dream of my desire,
The bitter paths wherein I stray,

Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire,
Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay!

One stone the more swings to her place
In that dread Temple of Thy Worth-
It is enough that through Thy grace
I saw naught common on Thy earth.

Take not that vision from my ken;

Oh whatsoe'er may spoil or speed, Help me to need no aid from men That I may help such men as need!

L'ENVOI

THERE'S a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield,

And the ricks stand gray to the sun,

Singing: "Over then, come over, for the bee has

quit the clover,

And your English summer's done."

You have heard the beat of the off-shore wind,
And the thresh of the deep-sea rain;

You have heard the song-how long! how long?
Pull out on the trail again!

Ha' done with the Tents of Shem, dear lass,
We've seen the seasons through,

And it's time to turn on the old trail, our own
trail, the out trail,

Pull out, pull out, on the Long Trail-the trail that is always new.

It's North you may run to the rime-ringed sun,
Or South to the blind Horn's hate;

Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay,
Or West to the Golden Gate;