I heard them cheering wildly

The children and I thought

In the grey market-place of Fear

Some slave has been unbought

Or some rich man has scattered

The world’s selfish grain

And Hunger nevermore need beg

The winnowings of gain

Or maybe it was Beauty had

Lit lamps for every one

And made a million poets

Where before there had been none

And the Father Son and Spirit

Had come down from Their high throne

And the knowledge of the Trinity

Was the gossip of the town.