A recklessness flashed from his eyes, and passions unconquered,
As he scornfully looked on the kneeling, worshipping Abel,
Ay scornfully thus he addressed his young innocent brother:

"Look at my sacrifice, Abel, these glistening dew-colored roses,
Those delicate lillies and mosses, these graceful arbutulas;
Look at the golden brown tints of these fruits in their lusciousness;
Look at the bright varied hues of these green leaves, closely encircling
These rich scarlet blossoms, like yonder clouds, glorious and wonderful;
Nothing on earth or in heaven could make fairer oblation.
Abel, what have you carved on your altar, in that wild devotion
By which you in vain seek to soften the anger of heaven?
A circle, to show that your God is all near, is filling
The seen and unseen with His incomprehensible presence.

Well, so let it be, then; I'll not contradict the illusion.
One thing appears certain, that we have offended our Maker,
Who visits unjustly on us the mistakes of our parents,
As if we ever reached out our hands for fruit once forbidden.
Shall we never be free from the thorns and the thistles upspringing?
Why do you still try to follow the steps and voice of your Maker?
And why still persist in slaying the white lambs of your meadows?
Take of my beautiful flowers and despise all blood shedding."

"My brother," spoke Abel, "I love the dear innocent flowers.
Are they not all, nearly all that is left us of Eden's fair glory,
All but the singing of birds, the winds and the waters, wild music,
All but the whispers of love and blessings of heart-broken parents;
But you heard, my brother, as well as myself the commandment,
Not to offer to heaven what _we_ choose, but what God declareth