For now shall thy horn be exalted, and now shall thy bolt strike home;

Yea, now shall thy kingdom come, Lord God of the priests of Rome.

They shall cast thy curb on the waters, and bridle the waves of the sea:

They shall say to her, Peace, be still: and stillness and peace shall be:

And the winds and the storms shall hear them, and tremble, and worship thee.

Thy breath shall darken the morning, and wither the mounting sun;

And the daysprings, frozen and fettered, shall know thee, and cease to run;

The heart of the world shall feel thee, and die, and thy will be done.

[Pg 195]

The spirit of man that would sound thee, and search out causes of things,

Shall shrink and subside and praise thee: and wisdom, with plume-plucked wings,

Shall cower at thy feet and confess thee, that none may fathom thy springs.

The fountains of song that await but the wind of an April to be

To burst the bonds of the winter, and speak with the sound of a sea,

The blast of thy mouth shall quench them: and song shall be only of thee.

The days that are dead shall quicken, the seasons that were shall return;

And the streets and the pastures of England, the woods that burgeon and yearn,

Shall be whitened with ashes of women and children and men that burn.

For the mother shall burn with the babe sprung forth of her womb in fire,

And bride with bridegroom, and brother with sister, and son with sire;

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