Page:Poems Terry, 1861.djvu/228

I outraged, with laugh inhuman,
 Thine expiring pangs, thou Son of God!
Look! beneath my feet the road is flying—
 Hark! the whirlwind hurries me abroad.—
Ye whose hearts to charity are strangers,
 Tremble at the awful doom I bear.
'Tis not God's divine, eternal nature,
 'Tis humanity avenged here!
    Evermore
 Turns the earth I wander o'er;
    Evermore, evermore!