these be lowly laid?
Must perish too the creatures bright that
rested in their shade?
Must there be always loss?
And beauty be but dross?
Must Nature pay the price
In one burnt sacrifice?
Must all her daughters die, her sons be
Before her land can bring forth golden
Even so, from many a heart of flesh the
idols must be cast,
And overthrown the shrines whereat we
worshipped in the past.
Destroyed must be our leafy groves by fierce
And deep must sorrow’s ploughshare cleave
the ash-strewn soil at last.
And when earth’s joys are flown
The precious'seed is sown;
And so the stricken field
Her hundred-fold doth yield;