He would not see this parchment face,
This figure without lustre.
He would see his little son who left him long ago;
For love would brush away the husk of years,
And leave a little child.



Of Worship and Conduct

At the corner of the Causeway on every seventh evening
Gathers the band of Salvation Army,
Making big noise of Washed-in-Blood-of-Lamb.

At temple in East India Dock Road
Men gather in white clothes, and sing,
And march with candles and pray to Lady.

At shop in Pennyfields, many times a day,
This person pays respect to Big Man Joss,
And burns to him prayer-papers and punk-sticks.

And all day long men toil for wife and child;
Wife suffer and stint to make bigger plate for child;
Child beg in street to get food for sick mother;
Sister wear ragged clothes for sake of little brother.
And none of these has bowed to Joss,
Or marched with candle,
Or washed in blood of Lamb.