They grew; majestic bowed or very meek; 
Huge-bodied, slim; sedate and full of glees. 
And He had pleasure deep in all of these. 
And to them soft and little tongues to speak 
Of Him to us, He gave wherefore they seek 
From dawn to dawn to bring unto our knees. 
Yet here amid the wistful sounds of leaves, 
A black-hued grewsome something swings and 
swings; 
Laughter it knew and joy in little things 
Till man's hate ended all. -And so man weaves. 
And God, how slow, how very slow weaves He- 
Was Christ Himself not nailed to a tree?

Written by Angelina W. Grimke (1880-1958)