HOT tears of anger wash my cheek like rain, Am I a slave then, whom the laws control, Abject and old, unreverenced? -- My soul I sought to free from fetters, and again I hear the clanging of that prison chain That the dead years upon our lives impose, Which still to bind a thousand prophets rose, And which to break full thousand died in vain. I have offended, yea, and suddenly Things that I thought long stifled rise in me, And though I know there be not right nor wrong, That the proud pillars of our faith must fall; Yet by my weakness grows repentance strong, With my own hands I clutch the cup of gall! |