4.

Lo, thy likeness of thy desolation,
  Shape and figure of thy might, O Lord,
Formless form, incarnate miscreation,
  Served of all things living and abhorred;
Earth herself is here thine incarnation,
  Time, of all things born on earth adored.

5.

All that worship thee are fearful of thee;
  No man may not worship thee for fear: 
Prayers nor curses prove not nor disprove thee,
  Move nor change thee with our change of cheer: 
All at last, though all abhorred thee, love thee,
  God, the sceptre of whose throne is here.

6.

Here thy throne and sceptre of thy station,
  Here the palace paven for thy feet;
Here thy sign from nation unto nation
  Passed as watchword for thy guards to greet,
Guards that go before thine exaltation,
  Ages, clothed with bitter years and sweet.

7.

Here, where sharp the sea-bird shrills his ditty,
  Flickering flame-wise through the clear live calm,
Rose triumphal, crowning all a city,
  Roofs exalted once with prayer and psalm,
Built of holy hands for holy pity,
  Frank and fruitful as a sheltering palm.

8.

Church and hospice wrought in faultless fashion,
  Hall and chancel bounteous and sublime,
Wide and sweet and glorious as compassion,
  Filled and thrilled with force of choral chime,
Filled with spirit of prayer and thrilled with passion
  Hailed a God more merciful than Time.

9.

Ah, less mighty, less than Time prevailing,
  Shrunk, expelled, made nothing at his nod,
Less than clouds across the sea-line sailing,
  Lies he, stricken by his master’s rod. 
‘Where is man?’ the cloister murmurs wailing;
  Back the mute shrine thunders—­’Where is God?’

10.

Here is all the end of all his glory—­
  Dust, and grass, and barren silent stones. 
Dead, like him, one hollow tower and hoary
  Naked in the sea-wind stands and moans,
Filled and thrilled with its perpetual story: 
  Here, where earth is dense with dead men’s bones.

11.

Low and loud and long, a voice for ever,
  Sounds the wind’s clear story like a song. 
Tomb from tomb the waves devouring sever,
  Dust from dust as years relapse along;
Graves where men made sure to rest, and never
  Lie dismantled by the seasons’ wrong.

12.

Now displaced, devoured and desecrated,
  Now by Time’s hands darkly disinterred,
These poor dead that sleeping here awaited
  Long the archangel’s re-creating word,
Closed about with roofs and walls high-gated
  Till the blast of judgment should be heard,

13.

Naked, shamed, cast out of consecration,
  Corpse and coffin, yea the very graves,
Scoffed at, scattered, shaken from their station,
  Spurned and scourged of wind and sea like slaves,
Desolate beyond man’s desolation,
  Shrink and sink into the waste of waves.