CVII
And in the labyrinth both son and sire
Awhile will fan and fuel hatred's fire;
Sparks of the log of evil are all men
Allwhere—extinguished be the race entire!
CVIII
If miracles were wrought in ancient years,
Why not to-day, O Heaven-cradled seers?
The highway's strewn with dead, the lepers weep,
If ye but knew,—if ye but saw their tears!
86
