Ye Shall Be Gods Oscar Wilde

Before the dividing of days
Or the singing of summer or spring
God from the dust did raise
A splendid and goodly thing:
Man - from the womb of the land,
Man - from the sterile sod
Torn by a terrible hand-
Formed in the image of God.
But the life of man is a sorrow
And death a relief from pain,
For love only lasts till tomorrow
And life without love is vain.

And your strength will wither like grass
Scorched by a pitiless sun,
And the might of your hands will pass
And the sands of your life will run.
O gods not of saving but of sorrow
Whose joy is in weeping of men
Who shall lend thee their life, or who borrow
From others to give thee again?
O gods ever wrathful and tearless,
O gods not of night but of day,
Though your faces be frowning and fearless
Thy kingdom shall pass - men say.