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

ch-worship go ! We read our masterly essays; we imitate Solomon, As we speak of the grass in the field and the cedars of Lebanon. We rise to eloquent heights as we preach to ladies and lords. Our words are smoother than oil, but none like two-edged swords ! No piercing or dividing of spirit and soul apart. No discernment of criminal thoughts and of hidden intents of the heart. They hear with patience our sermons, as the arrows fly o'er their heads ; Why should they worry, or be disturbed on their adulterous beds ? Their consciences are not pricked by anything we say— Why should they think of repenting, or of killing us for our pay ? We consider ourselves well paid by sufficiency of cash From the pocket of Herodias, by the courtiers’ applause and flash. WANTED:PROPHETS 61 What if we have to dance according to Herod’s flute!— While others will lose their heads, we’ll keep ours by being mute ! We consider ourselves well paid by the crowds who throng our Church. Why should we examine their hands ? Why should we for purity search ? What if they are money-changers, and sellers of oxen and sheep ? We’ll get a good part of their spoils if silent our tongues we keep ! The prophets of old were renowned for swimming against the tide ; More profit we have found as with the stream we glide ; Instead of enriching others by making them naked and poor. We fast are becoming bankrupt through gains that cannot endure. The world which remains unsalted by prophetic visions true Will perish without repentance, and the prophet will perish, too. The Church that is unchastened, grows full and is choked by weeds — This vision is true and prophetic, and let him run who reads ! May 24, 19x9. 62 OUT OF TUNE OUT OF TUNE I am out of tune with the worldly Church of our day, The Church that thinks she is rich and wise, The Church with shorn locks and with blinded eyes, That lives in memories of its long past sway •— Past duties of valour, dead faith in her prophets dead. Whose tombs she proudly builds up, while present prophets are led Before mock trials of judges and leaders blind. And thence to new “ Places of Scull.” . . . With such a Church, though I may be thought unkind. And though my judgment be reckoned dull, I had better tell you soon— I am out of tune ! I know my shortcomings, and they are many indeed, And yet I cannot join in the song which the worldly Church doth lead, I cannot stoop down to false judgments, to call good that which is wrong, To agree that black is white and blindly follow the throng. OUT OF TUNE 63 If I am full of shortcomings—I feel them, I cry and repent, And so I have to die daily, my hope is the Veil that was rent . . . But to enjoy the world as the modern Churches do, Nay, that was too hard for me, so that is why I withdrew! I could not play in their concert, that’s why I quit it so s