Page:Poems and ballads, third series (IA poemsballadsthir00swin).pdf/67

 Hacked, harried, and mangled of axes and skenes, three thousand naked and dead Bear witness of Catholic Ireland, what sons of what sires at her breasts are bred. Winds are pitiful, waves are merciful, tempest and storm are kind: The waters that smite may spare, and the thunder is deaf, and the lightning is blind: Of these perchance at his need may a man, though they know it not, yet find grace; But grace, if another be hardened against him, he gets not at this man's face. For his ear that hears and his eye that sees the wreck and the wail of men, And his heart that relents not within him, but hungers, are like as the wolf's in his den. Worthy are these to worship their master, the murderous Lord of lies, Who hath given to the pontiff his servant the keys of the pit and the keys of the skies.