The meek will get it all; that’s nice, and as it should be, but how long must they wait? In their dreams, as in the silent comedies, the victims of slapstick laugh at their tormentors, who slip on their own banana peels. Nature, having been put off, takes revenge; ants at picnics pester only step-mothers; bees sting only bullies; thieves have no recourse as their homes are plundered by pack rats and raccoons. Bosses quit, guns backfire, armies go AWOL, battleships lose power and drift upon the reefs. Yes, the meek will get it all. They won’t need to beg on the street; they will step over the prostrate bodies of patricians and tax collectors at the doors to their feasts. The meek will have to say who will plough and who will reap. Their torment will be to deny others as they were once denied. What must they be thinking as they turn the other cheek?