Sonnet to Negro Soldiers

They shall go down unto Life's Borderland,
Walk unafraid within that Living Hell,
Nor heed the driving rain of shot and shell
That 'round them falls; but with uplifted hand
Be one with mighty hosts, an arméd band
Against man's wrong to man--for such full well
They know. And from their trembling lips shall swell
A song of hope the world can understand.
All this to them shall be a glorious sign,
A glimmer of that resurrection morn,
When age-long Faith crowned with a grace benign
Shall rise and from their brows cast down the thorn
Of prejudice. E'en though through blood it be,
There breaks this day their dawn of Liberty.

poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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I Sometimes Wonder If the Mighty God

I sometimes wonder if the mighty God
Cares aught about the little deeds of men;
And if their day and time can reach his ken
Or raise their breath above the hungry sod.
Does He who lightly holds th' eternal rod,
Now taut, now loose, the threads of Why and When?
Giving passing heed--or be they one or ten--
To one-time flesh but now the wind-blown clod?

If men can die who never yet knew life,
And, smiling, hold it is no strange affair;
Or live when death were welcome boon of strife,
Torn, broken sheaves the ghostly reapers spare;
The saints must grieve for earthly sorrows rife,
And God must heed, yea surely, God must care.

poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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And Thou Art One

And Thou art One--One with th' eternal hills,
And with the flaming stars, and with the moon,
Translucent, cold. The sentinel of noon
That clothes the sky in robes of light and fills
The earth with warmth, the flowering fields, the rills,
The waving trees, the south wind's elfin rune,
Are One with Thee. All nature is in tune
With Thee, O Father, God--and if one wills
To humbly walk the fragrant, leaf-strewn path
And kneel in reverence 'neath the vaulted sky,
Hearing the hymnals of the waving trees
And prayers of the soughing winds--what hath
He less of heaven in him than we, who cry,
"God in our creeds doth dwell and not in these?"

poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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November

Old November, sere and brown,
Clothes the country, haunts the town,
Sheds its cloak of withered leaves,
Brings its sighing, soughing breeze.
Prophet of the dying year,
Builder of its funeral bier,
Bring your message here to men;
Sound it forth that they may ken
What of Life and what of Death
Linger on your frosty breath.
Let men know to you are given
Days of thanks to God in heaven;
Thanks for things which we deem best,
Thanks, O God, for all the rest
That have taught us--(trouble, strife,
Bring thru Death a larger life)--
Death of our base self and fear--
(Even as the dying year,
Though through cold and frost, shall bring
Forth a new and glorious spring)--

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poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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I'm A-waiting and A-watching

I'm a-waiting and a-watching for the day that has no end.
For the sun that's ever shining, for its rays that ever blend;
For the light that casts no shadows, for the sky that's ever fair,
For the rose that's ever blooming as its fragrance fills the air.

I'm a-waiting and a watching for the land that knows no night;
Where the terrors of the darkness are dispelled in morning's light,
Where the murmurs of the breezes blend themselves into a song,
And the silvery carol echoes to the heavens, soft and long.

I'm a-waiting and a-watching for the song that's never o'er,
For the joy that's never ending on that light-emblazoned shore,
For the peace that shall enfold me with the heaven's holy breath,
For the glory that shall greet me, for the life that knows no death.

poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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Then I Would Love You

Were you to come,
With your clear, gray eyes
As calmly placid as, in summer's heat,
At noontide lie the sultry skies;
With your dark, brown hair
As smoothly quiet as the leaves
When stirs no cooling breath of air;
And shorn of smile, your full, red lips
Prest firmly close as the chaliced bud,
Before the nectar-quaffing bee ere sips;
I would not know you.
I would not love you.

But should you come
With your love-bright eyes
Dancing gaily as, on summer's eve,
The stars adown the Western skies;
With your hair, wind-caught
And circled round your shining face
In fashion which no hand ere wrought;

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poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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Ego

Day passeth day in sunshine or shadow,
Night unto night each cycle is told;
Sun, moon and stars in whirling and glamour,
All unto all the creation unfold.

What of the strivings, what of the gropings,
Out from the darkness into the light?
What of the weepings, what of the grievings
Now from the day to the passionate night?

Stars of the stars, heavens of the heavens,
Rising or falling or pausing a span,
Each to the great "I am" replying
E'en as the crystal, e'en as man.

Chant of the worlds from aeon to aeon,
Song of the soul from dust unto dust,
Dream of the clods that, upward and starward,
Rise to the call of the primal "Thou must."

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poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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O, Little David, Play on Your Harp

O, Little David, play on your harp,
That ivory harp with the golden strings
And sing as you did in Jewry Land,
Of the Prince of Peace and the God of Love
And the coming Christ Immanuel.
O, Little David, play on your harp.

A seething world is gone stark mad;
And is drunk with the blood,
Gorged with the flesh,
Blinded with the ashes
Of her millions of dead.
From out it all and over all
There stands, years old and fully grown,
A monster in the guise of man.
He is of war and not of war;
Born in peace,
Nurtured in arrogant pride and greed,
World-creature is he and native to no land.
And war itself is merciful

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poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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The Band of Gideon

The band of Gideon roam the sky,
The howling wind is their war-cry,
The thunder roll is their trump's peal,
And the lightning flash their vengeful steel.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strond deed,
"The sword of the lord and Gideon."

And men below rear temples high
And mock their God with reasons why,
And live in arrogance, sin and shame,
And rape their souls for the world's good name.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strond deed,
"The sword of the lord and Gideon."

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poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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