Grant Allen (1848–1899)

A CROWNED caprice is god of this world;

On his stony breast are his white wings furled.

No ear to listen, no eye to see,

No heart to feel for a man hath he.

But his pitiless arm is swift to smite;

And his mute lips utter one word of might,

’Mid the clash of gentler souls and rougher,

‘Wrong must thou do, or wrong must suffer.’

Then grant, O dumb, blind god, at least that we

Rather the sufferers than the doers be.