Children

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.