Meleager
The years are hungry,
They wail all their days;
The gods wax angry
And weary of praise;
And who shall bridle their lips?
and who shall straiten their ways?
CHORUS.
The gods guard over us
With sword and with rod;
Weaving shadow to cover us,
Heaping the sod,
That law may fulfil herself wholly,
to darken man’s face before God.