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.