 | The book of the dead |  |
72
[XXXIII. Faint not, strong heart, beneath thy grief]
Faint not, strong heart, beneath thy grief!
God hears thy ever-rising prayer;
Be not impatient for relief,
If He unmoved thy wrongs can bear!
God hears thy ever-rising prayer;
Be not impatient for relief,
If He unmoved thy wrongs can bear!
God sees the wicked delve and sow,
He sees their thistle's purple crown
Flaunt in His suffering grain; but, lo!
Ere harvest it is stricken down.
He sees their thistle's purple crown
Flaunt in His suffering grain; but, lo!
Ere harvest it is stricken down.
They build their Babel in His sight,
From founding unto coping stone,—
Their pride is monstrous;—in a night
They lie beneath it, overthrown.
From founding unto coping stone,—
Their pride is monstrous;—in a night
They lie beneath it, overthrown.
His fires consume their cities proud,
His floods rush through their palace-gates;
His prophet's voice sounds, clear and loud,
Midst revelling princes and estates.
His floods rush through their palace-gates;
His prophet's voice sounds, clear and loud,
Midst revelling princes and estates.
73
Nor can the humbler sinner shun
The blow that snaps the crown of gold;
The liar, ere his lie be done,
Before the crowd falls still and cold.
The blow that snaps the crown of gold;
The liar, ere his lie be done,
Before the crowd falls still and cold.
For where the fire bursts out at night,
Men ask not is it hut or tower;
They only see a dreadful light,
And shudder at a boundless power.
Men ask not is it hut or tower;
They only see a dreadful light,
And shudder at a boundless power.
Therefore I will not deem this band
Of knaves too mean to move God's wrath:
The lightning, slumbering in His hand,
Is poised on its appointed path.
Of knaves too mean to move God's wrath:
The lightning, slumbering in His hand,
Is poised on its appointed path.
| The book of the dead | |