Poetry Archives

I saw a city filled with lust and shame,
 Where men, like wolves, slunk through the grim half-light;
And sudden, in the midst of it, there came
 One who spoke boldly for the cause of Right.

And speaking, fell before that brutish race
 Like some poor wren that shrieking eagles tear,
While brute Dishonour, with her bloodless face
 Stood by and smote his lips that moved in prayer.

“Speak not of God!  In centuries that word
 Hath not been uttered!  Our own king are we.”
And God stretched forth his finger as He heard
 And o’er it cast a thousand leagues of sea.