Page:Poems and ballads, third series (IA poemsballadsthir00swin).pdf/49

 But the Lord of darkness, the God whose love is a flaming fire, The master whose mercy fulfils wide hell till its torturers tire, He shall surely have heed of his servants who serve him for love, not hire.

They shall fetter the wing of the wind whose pinions are plumed with foam: For now shall thy horn be exalted, and now shall thy bolt strike home; Yea, now shall thy kingdom come, Lord God of the priests of Rome.