'In good time, when I am ready,
Wondrous schemes shall I unfold;
But we must be cautious, steady,
Cleaving to the safe and old.
Patience, prudence must prevail;
They who venture often fail.'

Thus the politician, weakly
Of the big things of the State;
While the patient public, meekly
Wait, and ever hopeful, wait;
While he slyly woos their vote
With shrewd turnings of his coat.

But, in time, when other people
Populate this troubled world,
Lo, from housetop and from steeple,
Futile curses will be hurled
Curses on the shiftless ones,
Feckless robbers of their sons.

When the last good tree has withered
In an arid, rainless clime,
Then the weary soul who blithered
Of the verdancy of Time
Will grow restless in his grave,
While his baulked descendants rave.

They will curse the generation
That has beggared them by stealth;
Curse the mad procrastination
That has robbed the land of wealth
Wealth their foolish fathers spent,
Reckless and improvident.

'What care we?' declare the spoilers.
'We have ample for to-day!
Other ages, other toilers
Let them suffer as they may.
Let the nation's hope be killed,
That our bellies may be filled!

'If to-day our wealth be doubled,
If to-day our trade be good,
Why should we be plagued and troubled
With vague dreams of nationhood?
For our selfish purpose we
Gaily rob prosperity.'

Robbers of coming race,
Glibly crying 'In good time.'
If one good ye had to face
Sons, and answer for your crime,
With that cry still in your throats,
How, then, would ye scheme for votes?