Her robes are of purple and scarlet, And the kings have bent their knees To the gemmed and jewelled harlot Who sitteth on many seas. They have drunk the abominations Of her golden cup of shame; She has drugged and debauched the nations With the mystery of her name. Her merchants have gathered riches By the power of her wantonness, And her usurers are as leeches On the World's supreme distress. She has scoured the seas as a spoiler; Her mart is a robber's den, With the wrested toll of the toiler, And the mortgaged souls of men. Her crimson flag is flying, Where the East and the West are one; Her drums while the day is dying Salute the rising sun. She has scourged the weak and the lowly And the just with an iron rod; She is drunk with the blood of the holy,-- She shall drink of the wrath of God!