Divine, Divine, Your Pillars Raise

An impossible to understand and therefore fabulous poem by R. C. Pritchett

Divine, divine, your pillars raise

For to stand ‘gainst the madd’ning craze

Of shoddy weaklings. O never

Give in. Divine dear, wroth ever

Unyielding, yet quite pleasant to

Those lowly slaves, the slaves knew:

Unmoved and great! Though they will try,

They cannot raise your pillars high,

The roof shingle that’s plain become —

Who could but a roofer handsome?

Divine, divine, your pillars raise

Lest fools your passion white may phase

Or underwhelm your pity’s power

Or clippers take to your great flower.

Never, never, you dear divine

Will we allow your name malign —

Turn noses at your pillars thin —

They’ll never, never, never win

Or begin to divine your plans,

Mighty universal dustpans,

Mysterious though they seem to be

They will remain a mystery.

Divine, divine, your pillars raise

As offer up we ceaseless praise.