Page:Hymns of the Marshes.djvu/65

 Thou slewest the child, oh why

Not rather slay Calamity,

Breeder of Pain and Doubt, infernal Power?

Or why not plunge thy blades about

Some maggot politician throng

Swarming to parcel out

The body of a land, and rout

The maw-conventicle, and ungorge Wrong?

What the cloud doeth

The Lord knoweth,

The cloud knoweth not.

What the artist doeth,

The Lord knoweth;

Knoweth the artist not?

Well-answered!—O dear artists, ye

—Whether in forms of curve or hue