Page:Poems and ballads, third series (IA poemsballadsthir00swin).pdf/67

Hacked, harried, and mangled of axes and skenes, three
thousand naked and dead
Bear witness of Catholic Ireland, what sons of what sires
at her breasts are bred.
Winds are pitiful, waves are merciful, tempest and storm
are kind:
The waters that smite may spare, and the thunder is
deaf, and the lightning is blind:
Of these perchance at his need may a man, though they
know it not, yet find grace;
But grace, if another be hardened against him, he gets
not at this man's face.
For his ear that hears and his eye that sees the wreck and
the wail of men,
And his heart that relents not within him, but hungers,
are like as the wolf's in his den.
Worthy are these to worship their master, the murderous
Lord of lies,
Who hath given to the pontiff his servant the keys of the
pit and the keys of the skies.