—He falls and knows not; the blow hath made blind his eyes;
And above hangs Sin, as a darkening of the skies,
And a great voice swelling
Like a mist about his dwelling,
And sobbing in the mist and cries.
—For so it abideth: subtle are we to plan,
Sure to fulfil, and forget not any Sin;
And Venerable they call us, but none can win
Our pardon for child of man.
Unhonoured and undesired though our kingdom be,
Where the sun is dead and no god in all the skies,
Great crags and trackless, alike for them that see,
And them of the wasted eyes;
—What mortal man but quaketh before my power,
And boweth in worship to hear my rule of doom,
God-given of old, fate-woven on the ageless loom
And ripe to the perfect hour?
To the end of all abideth mine ancient Right,
Whose word shall be never broke nor its deed undone,
Though my seat is below the Grave, in the place where sight
Fails and there is no Sun.
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