Unspattered by the muddied lies
That pass for wisdom of the wise--
Compassionate, alert, unbought,
Of purity and presence wrought,--
Big Brother that includes us all
Nor knows the name of Few!

If Love were what the harlots say
And hunger called the tune
Mayhap we'd need conserve the joys
Weighed grudgingly to girls and boys,
And eat the angels trapped and sold
By shriven priests for stolen gold,
If Love were what the harlots say
And hunger called the tune.

But Love is Mother of us all
(Dear Mother, if we knew!)--
So wise that not a sparrow falls,
Nor friendless in the prison calls
Uncomforted or uncaressed.
There's magic milk at Mercy's breast,
And little ones shall lead us all
When Trite Love calls the tune!


Naturally, being what we were, with our friend Monty held in durance
by a chief of outlaws, we were perfectly ready to kidnap Miss Vanderman
and ride off with her in case she should be inclined to delay
proceedings. It was also natural that we had not spoken of that