IV

See, we were nursed in the drear night-fold of your fatalist creed,

And we turn'd to the growing dawn, we had hoped for a dawn indeed,

When the light of a Sun that was coming would scatter the ghosts of the Past,

And the cramping creeds that had madden'd the peoples would vanish at last,

And we broke away from the Christ, our human brother and friend,

For He spoke, or it seem'd that He spoke, of a Hell without help, without end.