Re: The poetry of Philip Britts

WHILE WE REARM
 
Behind the mountains of imagination,
Screened off by passing mirth and passing tears,
The mind of mortal man is holding unawares
The harvest of a million weary years.
 
Some time, some place, some unsuspected dreamer
Will catch an echo of the far refrain,
And by his visions in a night of watching,
Will break the misty barriers of the brain.

His song shall shake the souls of politicians,
And while the craven church still watches, dumb,
The hands of men shall grasp at tools, not weapons,
And womanhood shall sing that Peace has come.
 
Philip Britts, 1936


Bruderhof Communities wrote:

> CAROL OF THE SEEKERS
>  
> We have not come like Eastern kings,
> With gifts upon the pommel lying,
> Our hands are empty, and we came
> Because we heard a baby crying.
>  
> We have not come like questing knights,
> With fiery swords and banners flying.
> We heard a call and hurried here--
> The call was like a baby crying.
>  
> But we have come with open hearts
> From places where the torch is dying.
> We seek a manger and a cross
> Because we heard a baby crying.
>  
> Philip Britts, Christmas 1939
>