Classic Poem

I am the lord of all these lands
Forgotten by the rain;
Lord of a thousand outstretched hands
That guide no plough again.

I have strong gates at north and south
Against mine enemy,
And stalwart towers that gaze on drouth
As far as towers can see.

I am the lord of these that die
And lord of a thousand dead:
Look down, Lord God; what lack have I,
Save only bread, — bread!