Yea, lonely still and evermore without,
Shamed and forgotten by the weed-grown door,
Standeth the Christ, while rings the battle-shout,
While statesmen wrangle and while madmen roar.
Spurned is the lord of peace, his message spurned
As when his people thorns for solace gave;
As when Servetus or when Cranmer burned,
Or England dared to side against the slave.
Hark! from the savage wilds they go to tame
Hark, what discordant sounds affront the ear!
His very priests, contending in his name,
Make it a thing of hate and scorn and fear.
Only the child his loving liegeman is,
And lays a timid hand, consoled, in his.