We are too much of this world, then and now,
Trading birthrights for messes of pottage;
Forsaking true intercourse for frottage,
Dominion lost in domination’s dow!
The sea of glass churned by earth-tiller’s plough,
Crystal no more but occluded by flotage;
Vision enclosed by walls of man’s plottage,
We labor in vain and strain for the sough
Of good news. – Rise up! Lift this great torment,
From vexed mind and shameful heart scarred by greed,
Seared by hate, torn by strife, choked by lament,
By quitting the farce: consent to concede.
To win we must lose, unbend and repent,
For orientation that spawned misdeed.

—Gregory Hake