“Their souls are Mine.
Their lives were in thy hand;--
Of thee I do require them!
The fetor of thy grim burnt-offerings
Comes up to Me in clouds of bitterness.
Thy fell undoings crucify afresh
Thy Lord--who died alike for these and thee.
Thy works are Death:--thy spear is in My side,--
O man! O man!--was it for this I died?
Was it for this?--
A valiant people harried to the void,--
Their fruitful fields a burnt-out wilderness,--
Their prosperous country ravelled into waste,--
Their smiling land a vast red sepulchre,--
--Thy work!
Thou art the man! The scales were in thy hand.
For this vast wrong I hold thy soul in fee.
Seek not a scapegoat for thy righteous due,
Nor hope to void thy countability.
Until thou purge thy pride and turn to Me,--
As thou hast done, so be it unto thee!”