So think their chiefs, their lords. For the blind mass of men, Which live and toil and die heart-hungry in their pen, They have no god but gold, the lord of their distress, And gold's slave, drink, that buys a night's forgetfulness. Of Thee they have no heed to chide them or to cheer, The fear of Thee with these is their law's officer. Lord God, if Thou but saw the pagan hearts they hide, The base greeds of their being, the lusts undenied, The Mammons that they worship! But Thou dost not see, Or Thou hadst purged long since this worst profanity From the World's better way and thereby saved Thy name Profaned in their foul mouths from its long daily shame. Thou dost not hear, nor see. The smoke of their foul dens Broodeth on Thy fair Earth as a black pestilence, Hiding the kind day's eye. No flower, no grass there groweth, Only their engines' dung which the fierce furnace throweth. Their presence poisoneth all and maketh all unclean. Thy streams they have made sewers for their dyes aniline. No fish therein may swim, no frog, no worm may crawl, No snail for grime may build her house within their wall. Thy beasts they have enslaved in blindness underground. The voice of birds that sang to them is a lost sound. Nay, they have tarred Time's features, pock-marked Nature's face, Brought all to the same jakes with their own lack of grace. In all Thy living World there is no sentient thing Polluteth and defileth as this Saxon king, This intellectual lord and sage of the new quest, The only wanton he that fouleth his own nest. And still his boast goeth forth. Nay, Lord, 'tis shame to Thee This slave, being what he is, should ape divinity, The poorest saddest drudge, the least joy-lifted heart In all a World where tears are sold in open mart, That he should stand, Thy choice, to preach Thy law, and set His impress on the Earth in full apostolate, Thy missioner and priest. He goeth among the nations, Saith he, to spread Thy truth, to preach Thy law of patience, To glorify Thy name! Not selfishly, forsooth, But for their own more good, to open them the truth, To teach them happiness, to civilise, to save, To smite down the oppressor and make free the slave. To bear the "White Man's Burden," which he yearns to take On his white Saxon back for his white conscience sake. Huge impudent imposture!--Lord, there were fair lands Once on Thy Earth, brave hills, bright isles, sweet coral strands, Noble savannahs, plains of limitless waving green, Lakes girt with giant forests, continents unseen, Unknown by these white thieves, where men lived in the way Of Thy good natural law with Thy free beasts at play And partners with Thy birds, men who nor toiled nor span, Nor sowed, nor reaped, nor delved for the red curse of Man, The gold that kills the soul, who knew nought of the fire Which in his guns he storeth, naught of the desire