“_Upon the earth much wickedness is sown—And I repent me of my first intent—With love I sought to raise Man from the dust—to set him high in heaven above you all. And for that reason I have sent my Son, gotten of me before the worlds were formed, to suffer pains and penalties and death. But Man in boldness turned his hand aside, and nailed the Godhead even to a tree—Forgetful of my promise and my power—I loved my son, he was my only Son—And yet the earth I must have loved it more—For when they spat on him I only frowned—nor interfered when they assailed him sore—I put them in a garden with a tree—Like to this one you see beside my throne—And this commandment stern I gave to them—‘Eat not, lest ye be eaten’—Yet they ate. Then up I rose, amazed thus much to find—that they my word regarded not at all—I told them not to eat, but they would eat—Oh! What a vile unnatural sin was theirs!—I gave them a free will as well you know—To do or not to do, as they thought best—And if I cramped it in with one small ‘but’—who could presume to judge my sovran will?—And when they fell I pardoned them again—In mercy thinking on their nature frail—And spared to kill them in my father’s power. Hoping to mould them into better shape—But they essayed from badness unto worse, and wrung my heart with pangs unfelt before—Till this my son, here sitting by my side—Rose and departed to the manger’s door. Then thought I now that all things were set square—That man would love me and esteem my son—They turned away and thought foul scorn of him—And matters turned from badness unto worse. Yet merciful am I, and all forgive—If they will call upon my holy name—I will forget about my son for them—And think his death a victory o’er the grave—Go powers omnipotent on wheels of fire—Ride to the earth and call aloud my name—Tell them to bow before me, low with fear—For when I come, I’ll come in a royal flame._” Hereon he sat down and loud cries of “Hallelujah” rent the air. “Worthy is he to be praised,” they cried. “Tis the voice of a God who rules in equity.” * * * * * _Some passages omitted_ * * * * * “Well,” said Plucritus, laughing, * * * * * _Passage omitted_ * * * * * “I must note him down in my book. He is a bad disciplinarian—he gives them too many chances. It is too relaxing for the morals. If he’d drawn them up pretty sharp when Adam fell he’d have spared himself a great deal of—well, pleasure, perhaps.” And now the scene darkened, and the whole thing began to crumble, and the nimble demons ran hither and thither the sounds of weird and magic music from beneath. CHAPTER VIII