Hold up those hands of innocence -- go, scare your sheep together, The blundering, tripping tups that bleat behind the old bell-wether; And if they snuff the taint and break to find another pen, Tell them it's tar that glistens so, and daub them yours again! “The charge is old”? -- As old as Cain -- as fresh as yesterday; Old as the Ten Commandments -- have ye talked those laws away? If words are words, or death is death, or powder sends the ball, You spoke the words that sped the shot -- the curse be on you all. “Our friends believe”? -- Of course they do -- as sheltered women may; But have they seen the shrieking soul ripped from the quivering clay? They! -- If their own front door is shut, they'll swear the whole world's warm; What do they know of dread of death or hanging fear of harm? The secret half a county keeps, the whisper in the lane, The shriek that tells the shot went home behind the broken pane, The dry blood crisping in the sun that scares the honest bees, And shows the “bhoys” have heard your talk -- what do they know of these? But you -- you know -- ay, ten times more; the secrets of the dead, Black terror on the country-side by word and whisper bred, The mangled stallion's scream at night, the tail-cropped heifer's low. Who set the whisper going first? You know, and well you know! My soul! I'd sooner lie in jail for murder plain and straight, Pure crime I'd done with my own hand for money, lust, or hate, Than take a seat in Parliament by fellow-felons cheered, While one of those “not provens” proved me cleared as you are cleared. Cleared -- you that “lost” the League accounts -- go, guard our honour still, Go, help to make our country's laws that broke God's law at will -- One hand stuck out behind the back, to signal “strike again”; The other on your dress-shirt-front to show your heart is clane. If black is black or white is white, in black and white it's down, You're only traitors to the Queen and rebels to the Crown. If print is print or words are words, the learned Court perpends: -- We are not ruled by murderers, but only -- by their friends. AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT Now this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser decreed, To ease the strong of their burden, to help the weak in their need, He sent a word to the peoples, who struggle, and pant, and sweat, That the straw might be counted fairly and the tally of bricks be set. The Lords of Their Hands assembled; from the East and the West they drew -- Baltimore, Lille, and Essen, Brummagem, Clyde, and Crewe. And some were black from the furnace, and some were brown from the soil, And some were blue from the dye-vat; but all were wearied of toil.