What! Is Earth sodden of anguish? Is she lain weeping, sobbing the fields, And the tears that run them scarlet? White morning, as thou comest, Art thou not afeared That thy mantle shall be stained? Oh, silver-footed Eve, art thou not fearful That thou shalt bruise the torn breast Of Earth with thy step, causing her To weep anew her scarlet tears? Oh, Noon, hide thou thy sun, Lest the parched parch them sorer. Oh, Night, kneel upon the fields! Pray with cool words of silver moonlight. Spread thy mantle of mist, Making the fevered know the touch of mercy. Oh, gentle God! Oh, gentle God! Make an end of man's folly With thy wisdom. |