Tell of serfs, dumb, Blind and starved by greed; Ground ’twixt its own mill-stones; Prating prayers to God While God looks on amazed At supine strength Behind these wills and souls inactive. Bound to an unjust cause; Held firm by statute and multiplying laws. Tell how they bound themselves: For paltry bits of food-- For half-made clothes-- And shacks for shelter For which they gave full rights to use Man’s Acre, And all the treasures that lie beneath. Tell of rampant selfishness run riot; Of countless serfs-- The earth’s scum; Floating to this _free_ land To climb upon it and gorge on gold _galore_; With inspirations only of eternal happiness in idleness; Playing wanton parts; Dragging in their brazened gods and images; Feeding on rotten greed; Loaded with besotted vices Practising stupid customs, These, all these-- With voice and vote,-- To sweep aside the well devised purpose, Built by patriarchs for _equal_ rights and honors. They came, to make a Nation of all nations-- But after all, no nation, No man’s land. Tell of poisoned, delayed and decayed food in transit. Tell of the settlement of nations’ differences By “good offices” for peace, With long--drawn--out, decrepit, verbose, empty ceremony. Of International Law-- The Will of Power. Of nations, swearing by the “Prince of Peace” Continuing to fortify with great and greater guns, Mobilizing husbands to defeat husbandry; Bedecking them with gilt without, Stuffing vanity and pompousness within. But, if you see through the roseate glass, Of swaggering optimism Proclaim, that:-- “‘God is working out His will’-- Too slow perhaps For challengers of spotted vice; For those who seek for the world’s and the Nation’s failings, inhuman sloth, stubbornness and sin.” Whatever thy chronicle, Let it not savor of a full stomach’s satisfaction That feels content with ill-got gain derived from tricks of trade. Live amidst conditions on both sides; Experience the chill and pinch of poverty; Feel the cold steel bands about an undeveloped soul; Want for tools and an opportunity to do some useful chosen work, Then will you write full well, Write strong thy story, Chronicling on golden pages; Infinite views, To march to triumph with the Truth of Truths; ’Twill live on and up and through The distant ages. * * * * * * Transcriber’s note: [Text enclosed by plus signs is in bold face.) “kind +and and+ kith and kin” changed to “kind +and+ kith and kin” on page 8.