I well deserve to be where I now stand,
To watch as Stupid God compels the land
And sea and sky to bend to the command
Of small-hand orange-face’s teeming horde
Who rage as bidden for no real reward.
I cower, bolt doors, and my windows board
As if against a storm I cannot fight.
There is no candle that can give a light
Sufficient to illumine the whole night,
And I have but a candle. Folly now
Does come forth once again in force; somehow
I had thought it hindered. Far too proud
Was I in thinking I could use my voice
To fight against it--yet I have no choice.
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