BROTHERS AND SONS
On a dirty floor at a slimy bar in the ante-room of hellI have seen them stand with a devil’s leer, I have heard the tales they tell—I have heard them brag of the brutish things, I have heard them boast of shame,Till I longed again for the Jewish God, for the God who smote with flame.And I wondered much if there lingered still not a dream of boyhood land,Not a tender thought of a mother’s kiss or a touch of sister’s hand.For we wander far, and the years go by, and the boyhood vision fades,Yet we are the sons of the mothers of men and brother to all the maids.And it is not there in the wild alone that the souls of men forget;In the house of pride, on the polished stair, where the gilded ones are met,I have heard the tale that is often told on the dirty bar-room floorWhile the idle smiled, and the lounger laughed, and the bestial asked for more.For the thing we are is the thing we are, not the thing in garments new;And the coat that fits is the tailor’s coat, but the man inside is you.It is such as I, it is such as you, that have made the jests and jades—Yet we are the sons of the mothers of men and brother to all the maids.Yea, the sons we are of a motherhood, of a mother-love, divine,And I can not slander this mother yours—if I do I slander mine;Yea, the brothers are of a sisterhood of the sisters loved or lone,And you can not slander the least and say that the world shall spare your own.For a woman’s name and a woman’s fame they are sweet, and frail, as flowers;But the strength to shield and the arm to wield for the woman’s name are ours.Let the God-made man keep his God-made trust till his life’s last twilight fades—For we are the sons of the mothers of men and brother to all the maids.
On a dirty floor at a slimy bar in the ante-room of hellI have seen them stand with a devil’s leer, I have heard the tales they tell—I have heard them brag of the brutish things, I have heard them boast of shame,Till I longed again for the Jewish God, for the God who smote with flame.And I wondered much if there lingered still not a dream of boyhood land,Not a tender thought of a mother’s kiss or a touch of sister’s hand.For we wander far, and the years go by, and the boyhood vision fades,Yet we are the sons of the mothers of men and brother to all the maids.And it is not there in the wild alone that the souls of men forget;In the house of pride, on the polished stair, where the gilded ones are met,I have heard the tale that is often told on the dirty bar-room floorWhile the idle smiled, and the lounger laughed, and the bestial asked for more.For the thing we are is the thing we are, not the thing in garments new;And the coat that fits is the tailor’s coat, but the man inside is you.It is such as I, it is such as you, that have made the jests and jades—Yet we are the sons of the mothers of men and brother to all the maids.Yea, the sons we are of a motherhood, of a mother-love, divine,And I can not slander this mother yours—if I do I slander mine;Yea, the brothers are of a sisterhood of the sisters loved or lone,And you can not slander the least and say that the world shall spare your own.For a woman’s name and a woman’s fame they are sweet, and frail, as flowers;But the strength to shield and the arm to wield for the woman’s name are ours.Let the God-made man keep his God-made trust till his life’s last twilight fades—For we are the sons of the mothers of men and brother to all the maids.
On a dirty floor at a slimy bar in the ante-room of hellI have seen them stand with a devil’s leer, I have heard the tales they tell—I have heard them brag of the brutish things, I have heard them boast of shame,Till I longed again for the Jewish God, for the God who smote with flame.And I wondered much if there lingered still not a dream of boyhood land,Not a tender thought of a mother’s kiss or a touch of sister’s hand.For we wander far, and the years go by, and the boyhood vision fades,Yet we are the sons of the mothers of men and brother to all the maids.
On a dirty floor at a slimy bar in the ante-room of hell
I have seen them stand with a devil’s leer, I have heard the tales they tell—
I have heard them brag of the brutish things, I have heard them boast of shame,
Till I longed again for the Jewish God, for the God who smote with flame.
And I wondered much if there lingered still not a dream of boyhood land,
Not a tender thought of a mother’s kiss or a touch of sister’s hand.
For we wander far, and the years go by, and the boyhood vision fades,
Yet we are the sons of the mothers of men and brother to all the maids.
And it is not there in the wild alone that the souls of men forget;In the house of pride, on the polished stair, where the gilded ones are met,I have heard the tale that is often told on the dirty bar-room floorWhile the idle smiled, and the lounger laughed, and the bestial asked for more.For the thing we are is the thing we are, not the thing in garments new;And the coat that fits is the tailor’s coat, but the man inside is you.It is such as I, it is such as you, that have made the jests and jades—Yet we are the sons of the mothers of men and brother to all the maids.
And it is not there in the wild alone that the souls of men forget;
In the house of pride, on the polished stair, where the gilded ones are met,
I have heard the tale that is often told on the dirty bar-room floor
While the idle smiled, and the lounger laughed, and the bestial asked for more.
For the thing we are is the thing we are, not the thing in garments new;
And the coat that fits is the tailor’s coat, but the man inside is you.
It is such as I, it is such as you, that have made the jests and jades—
Yet we are the sons of the mothers of men and brother to all the maids.
Yea, the sons we are of a motherhood, of a mother-love, divine,And I can not slander this mother yours—if I do I slander mine;Yea, the brothers are of a sisterhood of the sisters loved or lone,And you can not slander the least and say that the world shall spare your own.For a woman’s name and a woman’s fame they are sweet, and frail, as flowers;But the strength to shield and the arm to wield for the woman’s name are ours.Let the God-made man keep his God-made trust till his life’s last twilight fades—For we are the sons of the mothers of men and brother to all the maids.
Yea, the sons we are of a motherhood, of a mother-love, divine,
And I can not slander this mother yours—if I do I slander mine;
Yea, the brothers are of a sisterhood of the sisters loved or lone,
And you can not slander the least and say that the world shall spare your own.
For a woman’s name and a woman’s fame they are sweet, and frail, as flowers;
But the strength to shield and the arm to wield for the woman’s name are ours.
Let the God-made man keep his God-made trust till his life’s last twilight fades—
For we are the sons of the mothers of men and brother to all the maids.