As I hearken, perforce I must turn my head
From thee, who art cold and unfeeling as stone,
From thee, who art deaf when thy children make moan,
To my brothers, my sisters, who are bone of my bone
And flesh of my flesh, those whom sorrows invest,
Those whom torments afflict. With them, none but them,
Can my spirit find peace or my heart be at rest.
In reverence I bow before them, none but them;
For them, tenderest love; for thee, God, naught but hate!
The Elder