A Victorian Portrait
You stood behind your Bible
And thundered lie on lie,
And your roaring shook your beard
And the brow above your eye.
There was squalor all around you
And disaster far ahead,
And you roared the fall of Adam
To the dying and the dead.
You built your slums, and fastened
Your hand upon your heart
And warned the drab illiterate
Against all useless art.
And you died upon the Sabbath
In bitterness and gloom,
And your lies were all repeated
Above your gaudy tomb.
I got an e-mail from Bernie, who wondered if I could find this poem (at least, I hope it was this one you meant, Bernie...) -and I couldn't, but I know someone who can (thank you, John!). It reminded me a bit of Alabaster Thomas , at least in the gaudy tomb sense.