Asking, if the weathercock knows
From which way out oppression blows,
May yield a moment’s inward peace
Since inner storms, unwatched, may cease.
Best if the weathercock will show
Real storms a valid cock would crow;
Then citizens who’re rent inside
Could reunite on challenged pride.
Could order moping hands and feet
To snap alive, advance and meet
A foe once hid in inner doubt,
Who’s coming clearly from without!
How keen the air of battle blows
When faith identifies its foes!
How lunging life will leap and mock
Beneath the wind-howled weathercock!
All hands in the riotous fray
Bring genuine valour into play —
Exulting that the storm unbinds
Such joys as calmness never finds.
Then, let it be a gentle day
When peace once more comes into play —
All the storms that were outside
Creep into peaceful hearts to hide.
The citizens of Stormy Town
Then smile, and smoulder on deep down —
Till next the Cock point out the form
Of every heart’s abiding storm.