The lights fade in the semi-darkness the voices of WORKMEN are heard chanting.
I will show you the things that are now being done,Īnd some of the things that were long ago done,
The good man is the builder, if he build what is good. The desert is in the heart of your brother. The desert is squeezed in the tube-train next to you, The desert is not only around the corner, The desert is not remote in southern tropics, Second, you neglect and belittle the desert. To satisfy the rational and enlightened mind. What has been done of good, you find explanations However you disguise it, this thing does not change:įorgetful, you neglect your shrines and churches In all of my years, one thing does not change. With equal face those that bring ignominy, The good deeds that lead to obscurity, accepting The things that men count for happiness, seeking That it is hard to be really useful, resigning I have trodden the winepress alone, and I know Or irregular labour, which is not pleasant. Or ceaseless idleness, which is still harder, The God-shaken, in whom is the truth inborn.
Silence! and preserve respectful distance. That the country now is only fit for picnics.Īnd the Church does not seem to be wanted In the pleasant countryside, there it seemed In industrial districts, there I was told If the weather is foul we stay at home and read the papers. We toil for six days, on the seventh we must motor I journeyed to the suburbs, and there I was told: In the place where they work, but where they spend their Sundays. There I was told: we have too many churches,Īnd too few chop-houses. Where the River flows, with foreign flotations. I journeyed to London, to the timekept City, Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?īring us farther from God and nearer to the Dust. Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the Life we have lost in living? Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.Īll our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,Īll our ignorance brings us nearer to death, O world of spring and autumn, birth and dying!īrings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness O perpetual recurrence of determined seasons, O perpetual revolution of configured stars, The Hunter with his dogs pursues his circuit.
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