And men uncleaner still, a hideous band,
Loathsome as reptiles from the slimy strand
Of vanished seas, in ages pliocene.
Prophets the portent read with vision keen,
But lying seers cried “Peace,” throughout the land,
’Tis but a cloud-bank changing with the wind,
And craven hearts draw their own pictures there,
And traitors sneered, and from the pulpit whined
Sleek hypocrites, blind leaders of the blind,
Buyers of souls, who gathered gold with care,