NOT to the sober and staid,
Leading a quiet life,
But to men whose paths are laid
Ever through storm and strife-
Here is a song from me,
Sent to the tragic West,
Message of sympathy
To the hearts that can never rest.
This is the song I send
Out to the Western land-
Sinner, and martyr, and friend,
Brother! you-ll take my hand.

To you who have loved and lost;
To you whose souls have died
Cursing a fair false face
And the red warm lips that lied;
Loved with a boyish love,
With a love that was pure and true,
That set one woman above
The world that was known to you;
Eating your heart out now
Alone on a waste of sand-
I have been played with too.
Brother! you-ll take my hand.

To you who were loved too well,
And who cast that love aside
When your vanity was replete
And your passion was satisfied-
Haunted now day and night;
Haunted in every place
By the eyes of a suicide,
Set in a dead girl-s face.
Crouched in your misery
Out where the stars are grand-
O I am haunted too!
Brother! you-ll take my hand.

To you who had wealth or name,
Friends, love, and a future fair,
And who sacrificed all for drink
And the nights of Leicester Square:
In by the drunken town,
Out on the barren tramp,
Pacing it up and down
Alone by the listening camp;
Crouched in your agony,
Hiding your eyes with your hand-
I had the ball at my feet-
Brother! I understand.

There is a light for all;
Hold up your head and live!
Forgive the woman who wronged,
And the dead girl will forgive.
Brood not, but work for good;
Work in the world of men-
Strong is the man who fell
And rose from the depths again.
There shall be peace for you,
Sinners, who win the land.
I would fight upward too-
Brother! you-ll take my hand.