<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342813" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>George A. Knight</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Attorney Knight, it happens so sometimes<br>That lawyers, justifying cut-throats' crimes<br>For hire-calumniating, too, for gold,<br>The dead, dumb victims cruelly unsouled<br>Speak, through the press, to a tribunal far<br>More honorable than their Honors are,<br>A court that sits not with assenting smile<br>While living rogues dead gentleman revile,<br>A court where scoundrel ethics of your trade<br>Confuse no judgment and no cheating aid,<br>The Court of Honest Souls, where you in vain<br>May plead your right to falsify for gain,<br>Sternly reminded if a man engage<br>To serve assassins for the liar's wage,<br>His mouth with vilifying falsehoods crammed,<br>He's twice detestable and doubly damned!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Attorney Knight, defending Powell, you,<br>To earn your fee, so energetic grew<br>(So like a hound, the pride of all the pack,<br>Clapping your nose upon the dead man's track<br>To run his faults to earth-at least proclaim<br>At vacant holes the overtaken game)<br>That men who marked you nourishing the tongue,<br>And saw your arms so vigorously swung,<br>All marveled how so light a breeze could stir<br>So great a windmill to so great a whirr!<br>Little they knew, or surely they had grinned,<br>The mill was laboring to raise the wind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ralph Smith a 'shoulder-striker'! God, O hear<br>This hardy man's description of thy dear<br>Dead child, the gentlest soul, save only One,<br>E'er born in any land beneath the sun.<br>All silent benefactions still he wrought:<br>High deed and gracious speech and noble thought,<br>Kept all thy law, and, seeking still the right,<br>Upon his blameless breast received the light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints,' he cried<br>Whose wrath was deep as his comparison wide<br>Milton, thy servant. Nay, thy will be done:<br>To smite or spare-to me it all is one.<br>Can vengeance bring my sorrow to an end,<br>Or justice give me back my buried friend?<br>But if some Milton vainly now implore,<br>And Powell prosper as he did before,<br>Yet 'twere too much that, making no ado,<br>Thy saints be slaughtered and be slandered too.<br>So, Lord, make Knight his weapon keep in sheath,<br>Or do Thou wrest it from between his teeth!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ambrose+Bierce">Ambrose Bierce</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342813" data-title="George A. Knight de Ambrose Bierce" data-description="Attorney Knight, it happens so sometimes That lawyers, justifying cut-throats' crimes For hire-calumniating, too, for gold, The dead, dumb victims cruelly unsouled Speak, through the press, to a tribunal far More honorable than their Honors are, A..."></div> </div> </div>

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