 | Poems |  |
127
GOD MONEY.
They throned a God on the groaning earth,
And mighty rejoicing was held at his birth;
And the devils came trooping, and merrily laughed
As they gazed on the horrible handicraft.
And mighty rejoicing was held at his birth;
And the devils came trooping, and merrily laughed
As they gazed on the horrible handicraft.
For man is cunning to work his woe;
He had moulded him deities long ago,
And worshipped his work, but the cruellest God
Sate now in the court where the nations trod.
He had moulded him deities long ago,
And worshipped his work, but the cruellest God
Sate now in the court where the nations trod.
His throne was a pile of the glittering hoard,
His altar a furnace, his sceptre a sword;
For incense-smoke he had curses and prayers,
And his drink was a goblet of bitter tears:
His altar a furnace, his sceptre a sword;
For incense-smoke he had curses and prayers,
And his drink was a goblet of bitter tears:
And they framed him a Creed and a Liturgy
For Priests to be chaunting on bended knee;
But the chorus and creed rose ever the more
When he flung them a grip of his golden store.
For Priests to be chaunting on bended knee;
128
When he flung them a grip of his golden store.
Bishop and Chancellor, Monarch and Sage,
Lover and Poet, and Pedlar and Page,
Matron and Maid—not a knee was straight,
When once it had entered the temple gate.
Lover and Poet, and Pedlar and Page,
Matron and Maid—not a knee was straight,
When once it had entered the temple gate.
There were nobles with pedigrees, old as the hill,
Licking the dust for his high good will;
There were hoary men with a feeble grasp
Fumbling the gold that they could not clasp.
Licking the dust for his high good will;
There were hoary men with a feeble grasp
Fumbling the gold that they could not clasp.
There were maidens who care-worn and shivering stood,
Bartering their souls for their bodies' food;
And Priests with coin in their eager grips,
Preaching forbearance to starving lips.
Bartering their souls for their bodies' food;
And Priests with coin in their eager grips,
Preaching forbearance to starving lips.
And the Scholar forgetting his sacred life
Joined in the mean and unholy strife;
And Peace fled afar from the fatal throne:
Oh! that worship of gold was a bloody one!
Joined in the mean and unholy strife;
And Peace fled afar from the fatal throne:
Oh! that worship of gold was a bloody one!
| Poems | |