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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XVII
Work rating: Low

For lo! the nations, the imperial nations
 Of Europe, all imagine a vain thing,
 Sitting thus blindly in their generations,
 Serving an idol for their God and King.
 Blindly they rage together, worshipping
 Their lusts of cunning, and their lusts of gold;
 Trampling the hearts of all too weak to bring
 Alms to their Baal which is bought and sold.
 And lo! there is no refuge, none but Baal
 For man`s best help, and the mute recreant earth
 Drinks in its children`s blood, and hears their wail,
 And deals no vengeance on its last foul birth;
 And there is found no hand to ward or keep
 The weak from wrong, and Pity is asleep.
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