Suppose, this time, the sling should not avail
On the Judean plain where once for all
Mankind the pebble struck; suppose the tale
Should have a different end: the shepherd
yield,
The triumph pass to iron arm and thigh
The wonder vanish from the blooming field,
The mailed hulk stand, and the sweet singer
lie.
Suppose, but then what grace will go unsung,
What temple wall unbuilt, what gardens bare;
What plowshare broken and what harp unstrung!
Defeat will compass every heart aware.
How black the ramparts of a world wherein
The psalm is stilled, and David does not win.
— Marie Syrkin.
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