Not that the earth is changing, O my God!
Nor that the seasons totter in their walk,-
Not that the virulent ill of act and talk
Seethes ever as a winepress ever trod,-
Not therefore are we certain that the rod
Weighs in thine hand to smite thy world; though now
Beneath thine hand so many nations bow,
So many kings:-not therefore, O my God!-
But because Man is parcelled out in men
To-day; because, for any wrongful blow
No man not stricken asks, -I would be told
Why thou dost thus;� but his heart whispers then,
-He is he, I am I.� By this we know
That our earth falls asunder, being old.