 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
“THROUGH ALL THE CUNNING AGES”
Through all the cunning ages
Mankind hath made for man
From out his loves and rages
A god to bless and ban.
Mankind hath made for man
From out his loves and rages
A god to bless and ban.
When he his foe despises
This god he calls to curse;
And would he win earth's prizes
His praise doth man rehearse.
This god he calls to curse;
And would he win earth's prizes
His praise doth man rehearse.
So, when he craves the guerdon
Of others' land and pelf,
He flings the blame and burden
On this shadow of himself.
Of others' land and pelf,
He flings the blame and burden
On this shadow of himself.
If, spite of all their ranting,
There reigns a God indeed,
How well He hates the canting
That framed their sordid creed!
There reigns a God indeed,
How well He hates the canting
That framed their sordid creed!
273
“Lay not to me your hollow
And broken words of faith—
To sin that good may follow
No law of mine,” He saith.
And broken words of faith—
To sin that good may follow
No law of mine,” He saith.
“If, 'twixt your tribes and nations,
There lives no law but might,
Not myriad incantations
Can make your evil right.
There lives no law but might,
Not myriad incantations
Can make your evil right.
“Ye call me ‘God of battle’;
I weary while ye slay.
Are ye my hornèd cattle
To find no better way?”
I weary while ye slay.
Are ye my hornèd cattle
To find no better way?”
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |