Sin is too stupid to see beyond itself.
Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new, That which they have done but earnest of the things which they shall do.
From yon blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.
By blood a king, in heart a clown.
I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.
Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.