Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Элла Уилкокс)
Time’s Hymn of Hate
Oh, boastful, wicked land, that once was beautiful and great, How bitter and how black must be your self-invited fate, While Time goes down the centuries and sings his hymn of hate! Time’s voice is just. His words ring true. For as the past recedes, The clear-eyed Future slowly writes the story of its deeds; And as Time toward the Infinite his ceaseless flight is winging He shall go singing The hymn of hate, of men and gods, for all your deeds of lust, For all your acts of cruelty and hell-concocted schemes (More hideous than the darkest plot of which a devil dreams) Which sprang from your Medusa head before it touched the dust. Beneath the strangling hand of Fate That strident voice of yours Shall hush to silence, soon or late That Justice that endures Will mobilise its mighty ranks and free the human race, Then shall all Space, Yea, all the chains of sphere on sphere, With that loud hymn be ringing, Which Time goes singing His far flight winging And all the cherubims of God that dwell in regions o’er us Shall swell the chorus. Oh, boastful, wicked land, that once was beautiful and great, How desolate and dark must be your self-invited fate, While Time goes down the centuries and sings his hymn of hate!
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