"I have finished another year," said God,
       &nbsp "In grey, green, white, and brown;
I have strewn the leaf upon the sod,
Sealed up the worm within the clod,
       &nbsp And let the last sun down."

"And what's the good of it?" I said.
       &nbsp "What reasons made you call
From formless void this earth we tread,
When nine-and-ninety can be read
       &nbsp Why nought should be at all?

"Yea, Sire; why shaped you us, 'who in
       &nbsp This tabernacle groan' -
If ever a joy be found herein,
Such joy no man had wished to win
       &nbsp If he had never known!"

Then he: "My labours—logicless -
       &nbsp You may explain; not I:
Sense-sealed I have wrought, without a guess
That I evolved a Consciousness
       &nbsp To ask for reasons why.

"Strange that ephemeral creatures who
       &nbsp By my own ordering are,
Should see the shortness of my view,
Use ethic tests I never knew,
       &nbsp Or made provision for!"
He sank to raptness as of yore,
       &nbsp And opening New Year's Day
Wove it by rote as theretofore,
And went on working evermore
       &nbsp In his unweeting way.