At times, it seems that every deed is done
For Stupid God, and even those begun
As works that seek that damnéd force to stun
Will always turn to idiots uphold.
No wonder, then, that they grow often bold
Who to the Stupid God themselves have sold
And often get but pittance as their price
For making themselves willing sacrifice.
No deed of arms, no softly phrased advice
Can wisdom bring to such as would thus do,
Who would do things that others come to rue
And count no cost if it would see them through
To what they claim is victory--and I
Can do no more than shake my head and sigh.
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