74 
THE TALE OF ARCHAIS 
Hear thou their murmured song 
Who cry for pardon ;  pity, and prepare 
For pain’s delight thy votaries who kiss thy rod, 
O high Lord God ! 
 
O Lord our God ! 
O garden tyrant !  O imperious god ! 
Who as a father smitest with thy rod 
Thine erring children who aspire 
In vain the high mysteries 
Of thy most secret fire. 
Beat us and burn with nameless infamies ! 
We suffer, and are proud and glad, and kiss thy rod, 
O high Lord God. 
 
O Lord our God ! 
O despot of the fields !  O silent god ! 
Who hidest visions underneath thy rod, 
And hast all dreams and all desires and fears, 
All secrets and all loves and joys 
Of all the long vague years 
For lightsome maidens and desire-pale boys 
Within thy worship.  We desire thy bitter rod, 
O high Lord God !