At the clay god's feet!Hear them cry HolyTo stone and to steel,See them bend lowly,Loyal and leal,Blood rendered and bone,To steel and to stone.They have forgotThe stars and the sun,The grassy plot,And waters that runFrom rock to rock;—Their only careIs to grasp a lockOf Mammon's hair.
But you three rareFriends whom I love(With rhymes to swearThe depths whereof)A book to you threeWho have not bentThe idolatrous knee,Nor worship lentTo modern rites,Knowing full wellHow a just god smites
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