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48

Nay, nay. This is the house that God hateth.

There be many things that know its secret; sore

And evil things; murders and strangling death.

'Tis here they slaughter men A splashing floor.

Keen-sensed the strange maid seemeth, like a hound

For blood.—And what she seeks can sure be found!

The witnesses I follow where they lead.

The crying of little children  near the gate:

Crying for wounds that bleed:

And the smell of the baked meats their father ate.

Word of thy mystic power had reached our ear

Long since. Howbeit we need no prophets here.

Ah, ah! What would they? A new dreadful thing.

A great great sin plots in the house this day;

Too strong for the faithful, beyond medicining

And help stands far away.

This warning I can read not, though I knew

That other tale. It rings the city through.