I do not praise what others praise when I it folly find;
When I know it is folly, I cannot arrange my mind
To overlook its foolishness. I cannot be so kind
To something that to service of the Stupid God does bind
Those who hold it in esteem--yet I cannot unwind
The bindings that are set upon them, that many have entwined.
I sorrow for my lack of skill, and for them, I have grieved
Who by their bindings are from much that might be good bereaved.
Stronger hands than mine must work ere they will be retrieved;
Stronger words than mine must speak if they will be believed
Against the powers that array to keep them all deceived
In landscapes intellectual that are now all upheaved.
I cry out in the wilderness that once was settled well
Ere Stupid God’s more full emergence, at which reason fell.
I cry out for a savior who can silence the death knell
That now rings across the world, so far as I can tell,
And some are deafened by it, or seem so just as well,
And hear only the clarion that calls them them to sell.
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