But there are sloughs of ignorance so deep
That sect and rubric seem to fade away,
Souls unaroused as yet from barbarous sleep
That have not glimpsed the prospect of the day.
These have no art to tell the wrong from right
Who tot up two and two to sums unknown;
Uganda, relatively erudite,
Has wants unfelt by Frankfurt and Cologne.
So, when the flags are furled, the trumpets mute,
And soft-voiced messengers replace the guns,