In The British Museum, August, 1896

All day within the clanging town There sounds the press of weary feet; All night do men and beasts go down Into the struggle of the street. From sun to sun, from round to round, The reek of sweat pollutes the ground.

The clamour of discordant days Reaches the desecrated room Where faces wan from alien ways Shine through the daylight to the gloom, Where, thick with dust and shadows sown, A heathen god lies overthrown.

His altar is a case of glass; Strange laughter flies into his face; From side to side before him pass Rude voices of a younger race. Around him, stripped of gold and flowers, Lie gods of other creeds than ours.

He looks before him and he harks The heathen scoffing at his shame; Like arrows in the air he marks The lips that trifle with his name; And he whose worship they disown, He smiles on them--a God of stone.

He smiles upon them, on his face No graven majesty beguiles. They mock his Godhead--from his place He bends unto them and he smiles. His favours as a garnered sheaf Know not belief from unbelief.

He sits in silence, he who saw The hoary homage of the East-- Before whose sovereignty of Law There bowed, adoring, man and beast. He sits in silence, and a God He bows himself beneath the rod.

O God of stone! to whom the years Rustle like leaves that drop away, The seal upon thy forehead bears The impress of a larger day. No doubt that damns may bid to cease Thine old insuperable peace.

When, blind with carnage that inflames, We pander to the pangs of lust, Our orgies falter, and the shames That hold us dwindle into dust. From gods of flesh that we have known We turn to thee--a God of stone.

Our right hath been the right of steel, Our litany the battle-cry; Bound and abased beneath our heel, Thy chosen people prostrate lie. And where thy children came in prayer, Our proud hosannas rend the air.

Though we have warred with doubts for deeds, Our fortresses and faiths decay, Our altars rot with canker creeds-- Thou art forever and to-day; No sacrifice averts thy frown, No worship brings thy blessing down.

Far as the East is from the West, Thy graven smile this curse hath cast-- Thy vengeance is our own unrest, Our future is a people’s past. The blows that on thine image fall Are blows that smite the God of all.