Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/244

 Are the skies wet because we weep, Or fair because of any mirth? Cry out; they are gods; perchance they sleep; Cry; thou shalt know what prayers are worth, Thou dust and earth.

O earth, thou art fair; O dust, thou art great; O laughing lips and lips that mourn, Pray, till ye feel the exceeding weight Of God’s intolerable scorn, Not to be borne.

Behold, there is no grief like this; The barren blossom of thy prayer, Thou shalt find out how sweet it is. O fools and blind, what seek ye there, High up in the air?

Ye must have gods, the friends of men, Merciful gods, compassionate, And these shall answer you again. Will ye beat always at the gate, Ye fools of fate?

Ye fools and blind; for this is sure, That all ye shall not live, but die. Lo, what thing have ye found endure? Or what thing have ye found on high Past the blind sky?