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The Drunkards In The Street
by [?]


The Drunkards in the street are calling one another,
Heeding not the night-wind, great of heart and gay,–
Publicans and wantons–
Calling, laughing, calling,
While the Spirit bloweth Space and Time away.

Why should I feel the sobbing, the secrecy, the glory,
This comforter, this fitful wind divine?
I the cautious Pharisee, the scribe, the whited sepulchre–
I have no right to God, he is not mine.

* * * * *

Within their gutters, drunkards dream of Hell.
I say my prayers by my white bed to-night,
With the arms of God about me, with the angels singing, singing
Until the grayness of my soul grows white.