Chapter 25
The World Mother by William Wilfred Campbell Read for LibriVox.org by Marcel D Ward TheSoulExpans.com By Craig and Lonely Moore, she stands this mother of half a world's great men
and kins them far by Sea-Rag Lands or Orient Jungle or Western Finn and far out mid the Mad Turmoil or where the desert places keep their lonely hush for children toil
or wrapped in wide world honor sleep. By Egypt's sands or western waves she kins her latest hero's rest with Scotland's honor or his grave and Britain's flag above each breast.
And some at home, her mother love, keeps crooning wind songs o'er their graves where Arthur's Castle looms above or Strathey's storms or Solway raves or Loman unto Nevis' bends
in Odin love of clouds and dew where Trossack unto sterling sands greetings that build the years anew. Out where her miles of heathers sweep her dust of legend in his breast
neath Aged Dryberg's Isle and Keep her wizard Walter takes his rest and her love Plowman, he of air, more loved than any singer loved by a heart of man amid those rare high souls
the world hath tried and proved whose songs are first to heart and tongue wherever scotsmen greet together and far out, Ilyen scenes among go mad at the glint of a sprig of heather
and he her latest wayward child her Lewis of the magic pen who sleeps by tropic crater pile far far alas for Mr. Glenn who loved her, knew her, drew her soul beyond all common poor swim
in dreams the whops are calling low in sooth her heart is woe for him and they her warriors greater none e'er drew the blade of daring forth her Colin under Indian sun
her Donald of the fighting north or he her greatest hero he who sleeps somewhere by nightless sands grave Gordon mightiest of those free great captains of her fighting vans
yea these and myriad myriads more who stormed the fort or plowed the main to free the wave or win the shore she calls in vain she calls in vain brave sons of her far severed wide
by purpling peak or reeling foam from western ridge or orient side she calls them home she calls them home and far from east to western sea the answering word comes back to her
our hands were slack our hopes were free we answered to the blood the stir the life by Kelpie lock was dull the homeward sloughful work was done we followed where the world was full
to dre the weird our fates had spun we built the brig we reared the town we spanned the earth with lightning glean we plowed we fought amid smile and frown where all the world's four corners teem
but under all the surge of life the mad race fight for mastery though foremost in the surge and strife our hearts went back went back to thee for the Scotsman's speech is wise and slow
and the Scotsman's thought it is hard to kin but through all the yearnings of men that go his heart is the heart of the northern glen his song is the song of the wendy moore and the humming pipes of the squirreling den
and his love is the love of the shielding door and the smell of the smoking peat within and know half how much the alien blood is crossed with the strain that holds him fast mid the world's great ill and the world's great good
he yearns to the mother of men at last for there is something strong and something true in the wind where the sprig of heather is blown and something great in the blood so blue that makes him stand like a man alone
yet give him the road and loosen free he sets his teeth to the fiercest blast for there is never a toil in a far country but a Scotsman tackles it hard and fast he builds their commerce he sings their songs
he weaves their creeds with an iron twist and making of laws or writing of wrongs he grinds it all as a Scotsman's grist yay thereby cragging more she stands as mother of half of world's great men
and out of the heart of her haunted land she calls her children home again and over the glens and the wild sea floors she appears so still as she counts her cost with the wop slow calling over the moors
whoa whoa for the great ones she hath lost end of poem this recording is in the public domain.
