So God created man in his own image,
In the image of God created he him.
No wonder that old Franc who in himself embodied
       Both the dust and the divine,
       That frigid fire,
       Philanthropic misanthrope,
Could kindle sparks of righteous fire in those
       Who loved the Lord
And tickle unbelievers
As his tongue traced out against his cheek, to wit:
       God created man in his own image
       And man returned him the compliment.

Ah, funny, that; a bon mot, that,
Well placed and with precision.
Touch_, François, touch_; and yet
You might have added in your cool derision,
That none but those who held or at least grasped at
       The pattern of divinity
Could dream this up from the sweat and grime of years
And strive unknowingly to make the image come to life
       In their own bosom.

1945

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