I have a country,
but not a nation.
I have brothers,
but not brethren.
Cradle me in your arms;
Give me not brothers in arms.
This Sunday I cannot worship
My faith disrobed.
The dark invites,
With promises of light,
The angry drum beats
Seducing a dance.
Hither, thither
Goes the leader.
The bribe of the tribe
So favour ascribe.
The strongman lusts after my chattels,
I have no power to resist.
Where does my help come from?
Shall I knock on the door of the good bandit?
Or shall I lift my eyes to the hills
And Habakkuk-wait?
But though this land slays me,
I will yet love it.
Though the birds sing a dirge
I will wait a new song.
For I dare nurture,
If by the slenderest thread,
This ailing meadow to yet profuse.