John Davidson

Seraphs and saints with one great voice Welcomed that soul that knew not fear. Amazed to find it could rejoice, Hell raised a hoarse, half-human cheer.

Unwilling friend, let not your spite abate; Help me with scorn, and strengthen me with hate.

My feet are heavy now but on I go, My head erect beneath the tragic years.

That minister of ministers, Imagination, gathers up The undiscovered Universe, Like jewels in a jasper cup.

Farewell the hope that mocked, farewell despair That went before me still and made the pace. The earth is full of graves, and mine was there Before my life began; my resting-place.

Mere by-blows are the world and we, And time within eternity A sheer anachronism.

One must become Fanatic – be a wedge – a thunder-bolt To smite a passage through the close-grained world.

Business – the world's work – is the sale of lies: Not goods, but trade-marks; and still more and more In every branch becomes the sale of money.