Thy work of all time spoiled, their only use to die That these sad clowns may laugh. Nay, Lord, we weep for _Thee_, And spend ourselves in tears for Thy marred majesty. Behold, Lord, what we bring--this last proof in our hands, Their latest fiendliest spoil from Thy fair tropic lands, The birds of all the Earth unwinged to deck the heads Of their unseemly women; plumage of such reds As not the sunset hath, such purples as no throne, Not even in heaven, showeth,--hardly, Lord, Thine own; Such azures as the sea's, such greens as are in Spring The oak trees' tenderest buds of watched-for blossoming, Such opalescent pearls as only in Thy skies The lunar bow revealeth to night's sleep-tired eyes. Behold them, Lord of Beauty, Lord of Reverence, Lord of Compassion, Thou who meetest means to ends, Nor madest Thy world fair for less than Thine own fame, Behold Thy birds of joy lost, tortured, put to shame For these vile strumpets' whim. Arise, or cease to be Judge of the quick and dead! These dead wings cry to Thee! Arise, Lord, and avenge! THE ANGELS We wait upon Thy word. (_The Lord God covereth His face._) SATAN Thou hearest them, Lord God. THE LORD GOD Good Satan, I have heard. Thou art more just than I--alas, more just than I. THE ANGELS Behold the Lord God weepeth. THE ANGEL OF PITY What eyes should be dry If for a crime eyes weep? This crime transcendeth crime. And the Lord God hath pity--in His own good time. THE LORD GOD Alas, the time is late. I do repent Me sore The wrong I did thee, Satan, in those griefs of yore. The wrong I did the Earth. Yet is Eternity A long day for atonement. Thou thyself shalt be My instrument here of wrath to purge this race of Man And cast him on Time's dunghill, whence he first began. What, Angel, is thy counsel? Shall we unseal again The fountains of the heavens, send our outpoured rain, And flood him with new waters? Shall it be by fire? Shall we embraize the earth in one vast funeral pyre By impact of a star? let loose a sulphurous wind? Belch rocks from the Earth's bowels? Shall we strike Man blind With an unbearable light? Shall we so shake the hills, The plains, that he fall palsied, grind him in the mills Of a perpetual hail, importune him with snow, Scourge him with noise unceasing, or the glutinous flow Of a long pestilent stench? Speak, Satan, all thy thought, Thou who the traitor knowest. How may he be brought Best to annihilation? SATAN