Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/215

To soaring spire and open day.
"How venerable!" they cried of old.
"How vast!" in chorus now they roar—
"The like was never seen before!"

The Mayor.

My worthy friend, I needs must hold
His breeding scarcely quantum suff.
For whom it is not great enough.

Brand.

But clear it shall be unto all
That, as it stands, the Church is small.
To keep that hidden were to lie.

The Mayor.

Nay, listen,—let such whimsies fly!
What can it profit to dispraise
What you yourself have toil'd to raise?
You've satisfied their utmost dream;
It seems to them more rich and rare
Than aught they e'er saw anywhere:—
Let it continue so to seem!
Why should we vex their silly sight
With proffers of the flaming link,
When they're indifferent to light?
The question's only what they <g>think</g>.
It does not signify a jot
Though the Church were a pigeon-cot,
If in the faith they're rooted fast,
That it is infinitely vast.

Brand.

In every matter the same thought.

The Mayor.

To-day, moreover, we hold fête;