page: 77
Inasmuch as ye did it not . . .
- IF Christ should come to London,
- Come to London to‐day,
- He would not go to the West End,
- He would come down our way.
- He’d talk with the children dancing
- To the organ out in the street,
- And say He was their big Brother,
- And give them something to eat.
- He wouldn’t go to the mansions
- Where the charitable live,
- He’d come to the tenement houses
- Where we ain’t got nothing to give;
- He’d come so kind and so homely
- And treat us to beer and bread,
- And tell us how we ought to behave;
- And we would mind what He said.
- In the bright warm West End churches
- They sing and preach and pray;
- They call us ‘Belovèd Brethren!’
- But they do not act that way.
- And when He come to the church door,
- He’d call out bold and free:
- ‘You stop that preaching and praying
- And show what you’ve done for Me.’
- Then they’d say ‘Oh, Lord, we have given
- To the poor both blankets and tracts,
- And we’ve tried to make them sober,
- And we’ve tried to teach them facts.
- But they will sneak round to the drink‐shop;
- They pawn the blankets for beer;
- And we find them very ungrateful,
- But still we persevere.’
- Then He would say ‘I told you
- The time I was here before
- That you were all of you brothers,
- All you, that I suffered for.
- I won’t go into your churches,
- I’ll stop in the sun outside;
- You bring out the men, your brothers,
- The men for whom I died!’
- Out of our lousy lodgings,
- From arches and doorways about,
- They’d have to do what He told them,
- They’d have to call us out;
- Millions and millions and millions,
- Thick and crawling like flies,
- We should creep out to the sunshine
- And not be afraid of His eyes.
- He’d see what God’s image looks like,
- When men have dealt with the same,
- Wrinkled with work that is never done,
- Swollen and dirty with shame;
- He’d see on the children’s foreheads
- The branded gutter‐sign,
- That marks the girls to be harlots,
- That dooms the boys to be swine.
- Then He’d say ‘What’s the good of your churches,
- When these have nowhere to sleep?
- How can I hear your praying
- When they are cursing so deep?
- I gave My blood and My body
- That all should have bread and wine;
- And you have taken your share,—and theirs—
- Of these good gifts of Mine.’
- Then some of the rich would be sorry,
- And all would be very scared,
- And they’d say ‘But we never knew, Lord!’
- And He’d say ‘Ye never cared!’
- And some would be sick and shameful
- Because they’d know that they knew,
- But the best would say ‘We were wrong, Lord:
- Tell us what we can do!’
- I think He’d be sitting, likely,
- For some one ’ud bring Him a chair,
- With a common kid cuddled up on His knee,
- And the common sun on His hair;
- And they’d be standing before Him,
- And He’d say ‘You know, and you knew;
- You ought to work for your brothers,
- The same as I worked for you.
- ‘For, since you’re all of you brothers,
- It’s clear as the blessed sun
- That each must work for the others,
- Not thousands work for one.
- And the ones that have lived bone‐idle,
- If they want Me to hear them pray,
- Let them go and work for their livings
- The only honest way!
- ‘I’ve got nothing new to tell you,
- It’s just what I always said;
- But you’ve built their bones into churches
- And stolen their wine and bread.
- You, with My name on your forehead,
- Liar and traitor, and knave,
- You have lived on the death of your brothers,
- These, whom I died to save!’
- I wish He would come and say it—
- Perhaps they’d believe it then,
- And work like men for their livings
- And let us work, like men.
- Brothers! They’ll never believe it,
- The lie on their lips is red . . .
- They’ll never believe till He comes again
- Or till We rise from the dead!
