Gargoyles

Then backward work; the name becomes With pomp of metaphysic drums A causa causans—God, soul, truth. So raves the riot, age and youth, The cart before the horse. Revered And reverend master, is your beard Darwin’s survival of some tail? Who rants of soul were best to saddle His face, his arms the ass to straddle Since for his voice the part thus bare Would serve as well to scent the air. A. Where reverence ceases, ribald jest Breaks forth, the wise allow the rest. The perfect master stands confessed. 4. Why! I supposed your wrath would burst ; My name and number stand accurst In the great Order of the West ! A. Nay: Buddha smiles; ’twas Jesus wept! Arise, O brother and adept! XN. Master! A. The torture-hours are past. V. The peace of pain is mine at last. 28