“The Man with the Hoe”

Written after Seeing Millet’s World-Famous Painting “God made man in His own image, In the image of God made He him.” —GENESIS. i. 27. BOWED by the weight of centuries he leans Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground, The emptiness of ages in his face, And on his back the burden of the world. Who made him dead to rapture and despair, A thing that grieves not and that never hopes, Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox? Who loosened and let down this brutal jaw? Whose was the hand that slanted back this brow? Whose breath blew out the light within this brain? Is this the Thing the Lord God made and gave To have dominion over sea and land; To trace the stars and search the heavens for power; To feel the passion of Eternity? Is this the Dream He dreamed who shaped the suns And marked their ways upon the ancient deep? Down all the stretch of Hell to its last gulf There is no shape more terrible than this— More tongued with censure of the world’s blind greed— More filled with signs and portents for the soul— More fraught with menace to the universe. What gulfs between him and the seraphim! Slave of the wheel of labor, what to him Are Plato and the swing of Pleiades? What the long reaches of the peaks of song, The rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose? Through this dread shape the suffering ages look; Time’s tragedy is in that aching stoop; Through this dread shape humanity betrayed, Plundered, profaned and disinherited, Cries protest to the Judges of the World, A protest that is also prophecy. O masters, lords and rulers in all lands, Is this the handiwork you give to God, This monstrous thing distorted and soul-quenched? How will you ever straighten up this shape; Touch it again with immortality; Give back the upward looking and the light; Rebuild in it the music and the dream; Make right the immemorial infamies, Perfidious wrongs, immedicable woes? O masters, lords and rulers in all lands, How will the Future reckon with this Man? How answer his brute question in that hour When whirlwinds of rebellion shake the world? How will it be with kingdoms and with kings— With those who shaped him to the thing he is— When this dumb Terror shall reply to God After the silence of the centuries?

Collection: 
Sub Title: 
Poems of Sentiment: VI. Labor and Rest

More from Poet

Written after Seeing Millet’s World-Famous Painting “God made man in His own image, In the image of God made He him.” —GENESIS. i. 27. BOWED by the weight of centuries he leans Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground, The emptiness of ages in his face, And on his back the burden of the world...

I hear you, little bird, Shouting a-swing above the broken wall. Shout louder yet: no song can tell it all. Sing to my soul in the deep, still wood: ’T is wonderful beyond the wildest word: I ’d tell it, too, if I could. Oft when the white still dawn Lifted the skies and pushed the hills apart,...

The muses wrapped in mysteries of light Came in a rush of music on the night; And I was lifted wildly on quick wings, And borne away into the deep of things. The dead doors of my being broke apart; A wind of rapture blew across the heart; The inward song of worlds rang still and clear; I felt...

The spirit OF EARTH with still, restoring hands, Mid ruin moves, in glimmering chasm gropes, And mosses mantle and the bright flower opes; But Death the Ploughman wanders in all lands, And to the last of Earth his furrow stands. The grave is never hidden: fearful hopes Follow the dead upon the...

I looked one night, and there Semiramis, With all her mourning doves about her head, Sat rocking on an ancient road of Hell, Withered and eyeless, chanting to the moon Snatches of song they sang to her of old Upon the lighted roofs of Nineveh. And then her voice rang out with rattling laugh: “...