Songs of Action — The Inner Room

THE INNER ROOM

It is mine—the little chamber, Mine alone.

I had it from my forbears Years agone.

Yet within its walls I see A most motley company, And they one and all claim me As their own.

There’s one who is a soldier Bluff and keen;

Single-minded, heavy-fisted, Rude of mien.

He would gain a purse or stake it, He would win a heart or break it, He would give a life or take it, Conscience-clean.

And near him is a priest Still schism-whole;

He loves the censer-reek And organ-roll.

He has leanings to the mystic, Sacramental, eucharistic;

And dim yearnings altruistic Thrill his soul.

There’s another who with doubts Is overcast;

I think him younger brother To the last.

Walking wary stride by stride, Peering forwards anxious-eyed, Since he learned to doubt his guide In the past.

And ’mid them all, alert, But somewhat cowed, There sits a stark-faced fellow, Beetle-browed, Whose black soul shrinks away From a lawyer-ridden day, And has thoughts he dare not say Half avowed.

There are others who are sitting, Grim as doom, In the dim ill-boding shadow Of my room.

Darkling figures, stern or quaint, Now a savage, now a saint, Showing fitfully and faint Through the gloom.

And those shadows are so dense, There may be Many—very many—more Than I see.

They are sitting day and night Soldier, rogue, and anchorite;

And they wrangle and they fight Over me.

If the stark-faced fellow win, All is o’er!

If the priest should gain his will I doubt no more!

But if each shall have his day, I shall swing and I shall sway In the same old weary way As before.