What is man that Thou art mindful, Or that Thou shouldst visit him? Man, as through a glass, sees darkly, Seeks Thy truths with vision dim? Thou the fountainhead of Knowledge, Science Thou its Source and King, Satan doth Thy name dishonor With the teachers he doth bring. Like Poe's raven they are croaking, Perched outside the entrance door, With their theories are rapping, With their quills and beaks are tapping, "Only this and nothing more." Like some dark and noisesome shadow Flitting past Salvation's door, Shades of night, their wings are flopping, Seeds of death their beaks are dropping, Croaking, croaking, "Nevermore." What could be more sad or tragic? Blinded they by Satan's magic, Death the goal they strive to win. What for man have they to offer? All they take and nothing proffer, Death remains the wage for sin. |