LXIX
And silent drink. The tumult of our mirth
Is worse than our mad welcoming of birth:—
The thunder hath a grandeur, but the rains,
Without the thunder, quench the thirst of Earth.
LXX
The Prophets, too, among us come to teach.
Are one with those who from the pulpit preach;
They pray, and slay, and pass away, and yet
Our ills are as the pebbles on the beach.
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