Alas! she is a tyrant queen--
She fills the world with care and sorrow!
Today, the gold and silver sheen
Her slaves pursue, for tears, tomorrow.
A bitter vine embowers her throne,
Full-clustered with the fruit of evil;
And man to man, for her, hath shown,
At heart, the vulture--serpent--weevil.
For her, the traitor Jew of old
Betrayed his Friend to foes who sought him;
And many a Judas since hath sold,
And pierced afresh, "the Lord that bought him."
In vain before her Mercy pleads;
And tender Pity, weeping, flies her;
When Truth is stabbed, when Justice bleeds,
We find her priest the sacrificer.
By day, she robs the mind of ease;
By night, with thorns she plants the pillow;
She casts our peace to stormy seas--
To whiffling wind, and breaking billow.
She gives her dupe a dazzled eye--
The voice of conscience in him stifles;
Then, of the Pearl he'd place on high,
And peace below, his bosom rifles.
The mind, beneath her iron rod
And earthy load, deformed and shrinking,
Bows down before a mine-sprung god,
Whose form was ore--whose voice is chinking!
The spirit, born the higher things
Of life and light to seek and cherish,
For her will even sell its wings,
And crawl in caverns here, and perish.
She sometimes lays a silken snare,
With aspect bland, and accents wooing,
On fields of prospect wide and fair,
With buds of hope, but fruits of ruing!
She then takes up a Siren song;
And those who lend an ear, and follow
Her dulcet notes are lured along
For whirlpools of the gulf to swallow.
But still the giddy world are bent
On paying court and tribute to her;
Her vassals far and wide are sent,
The playthings of an evil-doer.
From youth, in all its flower and dew,
To withered age, with temples hoary,
Her pleased and willing dupes pursue
The phantom of a golden glory!
Alas for thine unchecked control,
Thou Love-of-Money, cold and cruel!
That man for thee should pawn his soul,
And rob his Maker of the jewel!
Ye subjects, dupes, and slaves to her,
Compute the wages she can pay you;
Nor till your sun is set defer
To learn how far she could betray you!
Ye simple, when will ye be wise,
And from your ruthless tyrant sever,
Nor feed on vanity and lies
The part that lives, or dies, for ever?
Gird up your minds to rise in power,
And break the heavy chains that bind you!
Be free, before that evil hour,
When all you sought must stay behind you!
Be rich, but not in worldly gear,
--Rich, as the children of a Father
Who stints you not with portions here,
Of dust and earth, your hands may gather.
Your gold will then be unalloyed;
Your bonds, the ties of friend and brother,
In Him who makes no promise void,
Nor gives "his glory to another."
