Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/112

 Yea, for their wrong's sake that thine hand hath done Come even to hate thy semblance in the sun? Turn back from dawn and noon and all thy light To make their souls one with the soul of night? Christ, if thou hear yet or have eyes to see, Thou that hadst pity, and hast no pity on me, Know'st thou no more, as in this life's sharp span, What pain thou hadst on earth, what pain hath man? Hast thou no care, that all we suffer yet? What help is ours of thee if thou forget? What profit have we though thy blood were given, If we that sin bleed and be not forgiven? Not love but hate, thou bitter God and strange, Whose heart as man's heart hath grown cold with change, Not love but hate thou showest us that have sinned.' And like a world's cry shuddering was the wind, And like a God's voice threatening was the sea. 'Nay, Lord, for thou wast gracious; nay, in thee No change can come with time or varying fate, No tongue bid thine be less compassionate, No sterner eye rebuke for mercy thine, No sin put out thy pity—no, not mine. Thou knowest us, Lord, thou knowest us, all we are, He, and the soul that hath his soul for star: Thou knowest as I know, Lord, how much more worth Than all souls clad and clasped about with earth, But most of all, God, how much more than I, Is this man's soul that surely shall not die.