All God's angels come to us disguised.
They are slaves who fear to speak, for the fallen and the weak.
His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, But hern went pity-Zekle.
If the devil take a less hateful shape to us than to our fathers, he is as busy with us as with them.
In vain we call old notions fudge, And bend our conscience to our dealing; The Ten Commandments will not budge, And stealing will continue stealing.
Things always seem fairer when we look back at them, and it is out of that inaccessible tower of the past that Longing leans and beckons.