 | Famine |  |
The Song of the Toiler!
Honour the MasterDealer in clammin'!
Thy husband, Disaster!
Provider of Famine,
World-ruling Trade.
Honour the jackal,
The blood-hound of Want!
When work is slack, all
The worse for the Gaunt,
Wages unpaid.
Laud him, Applauder!
Him of the close fist;
Hymn the wise hoarder!
Hymn the Economist,
Genius of gain!
Praise him who filleth
With folly his warerooms!
Praise him who killeth
His workers, in bare rooms
Prison'd and slain!
Surely he hateth
Communist dreamers:
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Yet for Redeemers,
Silver hath he:
Counteth his pieces,
His thirty per cent;
Counteth his fleeces,
Centuples his rent,
Earth holds in fee.
Praise him who hinders
Division of good:
Peddler of cinders,
Destroyer of food,
Hirer of Death!
Praise him who playeth
With Death as a doll!
Praise him who slayeth,
And slaying takes toll
Of his victim's last breath!
Fatten him, labour!
With coin in his purse;
Let pipe and tabor
Keep close to his hearse;
Pray for his soul!
So wise a reaper
May well own the soil;
Surely thy keeper,
Cain's brother, call'd Toil!
Thy life may controul.
Work when he chooseth!
Starve when he biddeth!
Tools that he useth
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Him of, his work done.
Heap him with blessing,
This God of the Ages!
Hope no redressing,
But scantier wages
As the years run!
His — pick and shovel,
His — axe and ploughshare,
Hammer and trowel,
Shop-gear and house-ware,
His the machine;
His — the red vintage,
Harvest and profit,
His — the percentage,
Usury of it
Counted between:
Traffic's great highways,
Gold-room, exchanges,
Labour's least byeways,
All he arranges,
Ruleth like Doom.
Born when he liketh,
Bred as he orders,
Die when he striketh!
There in Want's borders
Dig thy cheap tomb!
| Famine | |