The gentle going of thy day.

All the Three.

All the Three.

Strength drink the angels from thy glory,

Though none may search thy wondrous way;

Thy works repeat their radiant story,

As bright as on Creation’s day.

Mephistopheles.

Mephistopheles.

Sith thou, O Lord, approachest near,

And how we fare would’st fain have information,

And thou of old wert glad to see me here,

I stand to-day amid the courtly nation.

Pardon; no words of fine address I know,

Nor could, though all should hoot me down with sneers;

My pathos would move laughter, and not tears,

Wert thou not weaned from laughter long ago.

Of suns and worlds I’ve nought to say,

I only see how men must fret their lives away.

The little god o’ the world jogs and jogs on, the same

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