The Pattern.

G. W. Barlow

William Bligh with his whip
And swollen pride guided his ship
To seas alive with conscience so
A fair wind blows where sailors go.

And what if Judas had refused
To have his master sorely used ?
Thirty pieces thus were paid
To fit the pattern God has made.

The rotting grass to feed the flower;
The warning in the milk turned sour.
The darkest night shows brightest light;
Greatest wrong awakens right.