Facing a cold and sneering sky,
Cold as the sneering hearts of men,
A man began to prophesy,
To speak of love and faith again.
Boldly he spoke, and bravely dared
The savage jest, the kindlier stone;
The armies mocked at him; he fared
To battle gaily--and alone.
Alone he fought; alone, to move
A world whose wars would never cease--
And all his blows were struck for love,
And all his fighting was for peace...
They tortured him with thorns and rods,
They hanged him on a frowning hill--
_And all the old and heartless gods
Are laughing still._