And through the prophets’ voice to the round world
Best known: and now they seek an unknown Lord,
Wandering in death’s threshold manifest,
And leave behind the known. False is their faith,
135 False is their God, deceptive their reward,
False is their resurrection, death’s defeat
False, vain their martyrdoms, and e’en Christ’s name
An empty sound: whom, teaching that He came
Like magic mist, they (quite demented) own
140 To be the actor of a lie, and make
His passion bootless, and the populace
(A feigned one!) without crime! Is God thus true?
Are such the honours rendered to the Lord?
Ah! wretched men! gratuitously lost
145 In death ungrateful! Who, by blind guide led,
Have headlong rushed into the ditch! and as
In dreams the fancied rich man in his store
Of treasure doth exult, and with his hands
Grasps it, the sport of empty hope, so ye, so
150 Deceived, are hoping for a shadow vain
Of guerdon!
Ah! ye silent laughingstocks,
Or doomed prey, of the dragon, do ye hope,
Stern men, for death in room of gentle peace?
Dare ye blame God, who hath works
155 So great? in whose earth, ’mid profuse displays
Of His exceeding parent-care, His gifts
(Unmindful of Himself!) ye largely praise,
Rushing to ruin! do ye reprobate—
Approving of the works—the Maker’s self,
160 The world’s Artificer, whose work withal
Ye are yourselves? Who gave those little selves
Great honours; sowed your crops; made all the brutes
Your subjects; makes the seasons of the year
Fruitful with stated months; grants sweetnesses,
165 Drinks various, rich odours, jocund flowers,
And the groves’ grateful bowers; to growing herbs
Grants wondrous juices; founts and streams dispreads
With sweet waves, and illumes with stars the sky
And the whole orb: the infinite sole Lord,
170 Both Just and Good; known by His work; to none
By aspect known; whom nations, flourishing
In wealth, but foolish, wrapped in error’s shroud,
(Albeit ’tis beneath an alien name
They praise Him, yet) their Maker knowing! dread