Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/131

Rh Whom man's frail flesh begat not,

Nor in forgetfulness

Shall lull to sleep of death;

In them our God is great,

In them He grows not old for evermore.

But pride begets the mood

Of wanton, tyrant power;

Pride filled with many thoughts, yet filled in vain,

Untimely, ill-advised,

Scaling the topmost height,

Falls to the abyss of woe,

Where step that profiteth

It seeks in vain to take.

I ask our God to stay

The labours never more

That work our country's good;

I will not cease to call on God for aid.

But if there be who walketh haughtily,

In action or in speech,

Whom Righteousness herself has ceased to awe,

Who shrines of Gods reveres not,

An evil fate be his,

(Fit meed for all his evil boastfulness;)

Unless he gain his gains more righteously,

And draweth back from deeds of sacrilege,

Nor lays rash hand upon the holy things,

By man inviolable:

Who now, if such things be,

Will boast that he can guard

His soul from darts of wrath?

If deeds like these are held in high repute,