They gather now in halls of might,
To shape the words we say,
To guard one creed from slight or scorn,
And cast the rest away.
The scribes will write, the lords will nod,
And law shall have its sway.
Yet where was care for English kin,
Or heed for church and bell?
Where burned the lamps for those who bled,
When hatred round them fell?
A clash of worlds, a clash of faiths,
Yet silence greets the knell.
For words, not deeds, shall weigh the scale,
And tongues shall pay the price,
For fear offends, and truth now bends,
To gild a creed in vice.
Speak soft, speak low, lest watchmen come,
With chains for their device.
But let them write, and let them rule,
And let them bind with law,
Yet men will speak, and men will think,
As men have done before.
And time will show what words conceal,
Beneath the gilded lore.
For fear may reign, and law may chain,
And hush the heretic's cry,
Yet when one creed holds all the shield,
The sword is sure to fly.
(By John Shenton)