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Is it a miracle,

Is it a miracle,
Or is it the change of time,
The West’s magical powers
Are lost in the East.

My lightning—destroyed abode
Has taught me the truth,
That the thunderbolt itself
Is a home for songbirds,

Submission can be to God,
Or beggary pure and simple;
Serve either God alone,
Or serve the meanest of men.

Inheritor of faith,
Thou dost no longer possess
The words that conquer all,
The deeds that conquer the world.

Hearts did tremble once
At a single glance of thine,
But now thou hast lost
Thy power as a man of God.

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