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POET: I see a great fen, which, beloved Mother, you have not

made. It spreads upon the darkened earth like a foul blot. Here and there flowers arise slowly upon it and bloom

for a moment. Then sink back into rottenness. I hear a long, low moan, which bubbles from the great

Morass. I see that its blackness covers the face of the earth. Above it, towering on a dizzy crag, eternal Justice stands. Holding in one hand a torch and in the other a bright

sword, point down. His face is calm as the mountains.

But I tremble at his voice saying slowly, without anger: "Man ! Man ! This fetid fen is all your deed. "You have put a blight upon the earth. "It is nothing that you have touched the sky with your

towers of Babylon, "Leveled the mountains, harnessed the cataracts "And put the ocean into bonds. "You have snatched joy from the lips of children ; "You have made the mothers unfit, hating motherhood ; "And the fathers unfit, cursing fatherhood. "Who has given unto you possession of your brother? "Or said to you, 'The earth is yours,' "To be preserved to you by force, and your brother shall

become your tenant? "Who has declared the fruit of your brother's toil is yours, "And that you shall drain off his blood for your fatness? "What Power has set a few as governors above their

brethren, "Or made a majority to be tyrants?"

TRUTH: Greater than the building of great cities Is the building of the soul of Man.

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