What went ye forth to see? a shaken reed?—
Ye throngers of the Parthenon last night.
Prophet, yea more than prophet, we agreed;
No John a’ Desert with the girdle tight,
And locusts and wild honey for his need,
Before the dreadful day appears in sight
Urging one word to make the conscience bleed,
But an obese John Smith, “a shining light”
(Our chairman felt), “an honour to his creed.”
O by the gas, when buns and tea had wrought
Upon our hearts, how grew the Future bright,—
The Press, the Institutes, Advance of Thought,
And People’s Books, till every mother’s son
Can prove there is a God, or there is none.