The Stundist in Siberian Exile AND OTHER POEMS, William Fetler, 1922

ng night of slavery and fear ! So many demons forcing chains upon me— Thoughts of despair—so real and so near. . . . 54 FREE Now all is o'er ! As when the sun ariseth, Damp mists and fierce night-terrors quickly flee— Thus has the Sun of Righteousness arisen With healing in His wings, and I am free ! May 21, 1919. SERVICE •>5 THE CITY I like the busy city, with its noise and smoke and din, I like the busy city, with its recklessness and sin. For where is sin there I can go with the Gospel’s silver bell. Ring out with a steadfast hand in hope, and lead them out of hell! How much has sin abounded in the busy city street ! How many a conscience soiled and scarred, how many wandering feet ! There is my place ; there I must go, with a pure and loving heart : I know that some will repent and return, and homeward they will start. In the midst of the city’s pollution and sin as the blackest night, Let me be as a falling snowflake, that comes from heaven so white. And if the sound of my message they would hear with a deafened ear, Let the purity of the snowflake be a witness around them and near. v 58 THE CITY One day I know they will be ashamed of the darkness of their life, They’ll grow tired of joyless joy, of envy and hate and strife. Then as they look on the snowflake, with its message of peace and rest. They will start for their Home, with tears, and fall on the Father’s breast. There all at last shall gather, who repented and who wept, Who left dark sinful Egypt, as Passover they kept. It will be another city, with its mansions and streets of gold, With peace and rest by the crystal sea, with purest joy untold ! There in the streets of that city, will children come and play, No danger of being hurt, no sleep at the end of day. For the day will never end, and a night will never begin, And nevermore in that city will be pain or sorrow or sin. Los Angeles, California, September io, 1918. WANTED:PROPHETS 59 WANTED: PROPHETS The world again needs prophets, for this is a day of woe, Though peace is proclaimed from housetops both by friend and by foe. Men in prophetic garments, but with unpro- phetic tongues, Dream of the golden age, while condoning present wrongs. Instead of telling aloud what the future Herods will be, The present Herods should hear a verdict, straight¬ forward and free! But we prefer their banqueting-halls to a dismal prison-cell. With charity treat we crime, because we wish to be treated well! We sit with the guests of honour, with priests and scribes and lords ; Betraying our holy calling, we listen to charming chords! And when the head of the prophet dead, is brought on a charger in, We do not rend our garments, nor rise to de¬ nounce the sin. 6o WANTED.: PROPHETS We come to Herod’s mansion as men of sweet psalms, and lo ! E’en Herod and Herodias to our chur