As an anthem for God's ear,
There thy week-day toil be sought
With no sacrilege to fear.
There the World be like a tree
Folded in its shielding bark;
Faith and Action blended be.
There shall daily labour fuse
With right Teaching and right Use,
Daily drudgery be one
With star-flights beyond the sun,
One with Yule-tide revelry
And the Dance before the Ark.
[A stormy agitation passes over the multitude; some retire; most press close about Brand.
A Thousand Voices.
Light is kindled in the dark;—
Life and serving God's the same!
The Dean.
Woe on us! He wins them—hark!
Mayor, sexton, beadle, clerk!
The Mayor.
[Aside.]
Do not scream so, o' God's name!
With a bull who wants a bout?
Let him roar his ravin out!
Brand.
[To the multitude.]
Hence—away! God is afar!
Cannot be where such men are!
Fair His kingdom is and free!
[Locks the church-door and takes the keys
in his hand.]
