THE ALTAR OF THE RIGHTEOUSNESS
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God, father of lies, God, son of perdition, God, spirit
of ill,
Thy will that for ages was done is undone as a dead
God's will.
Not Mahomet's sword could slay thee, nor Borgia's or
Calvin's praise:
But the scales of the spirit that weigh thee are weighted
with truth, and it slays.
The song of the day of thy fury, when nature and death
shall quail,
Rings now as the thunders of Jewry, the ghost of a dead
world's tale.
That day and its doom foreseen and foreshadowed on
earth, when thou,
Lord God, wast lord of the keen dark season, are sport
for us now.
Thy claws were clipped and thy fangs plucked out by
the hands that slew
Men, lovers of man, whose pangs bore witness if truth
were true.
