"He is our Father, Lord of all,
From the meadow to the Pass,
So ... pray you to a painted bird,
Or green snake in the grass?"
"Rash Thing, beware," the Hermit cried,
Like agates were his eyes,
"The God I serve you do not know
A strong God, just and wise.
For He will purge your streams and woods,
And smite both hip and thigh