Part 3

They fear his tongue, Unscrupulous to speak, the right he hath in wrong, The wrong he hath in right. They doubt he hath Thine ear, Lord of the Universe. They are excused of fear. They see his long success, his victory over good, They count the nations lost which were of kindlier blood But could not stand before him, his great subtlety, His skill in the arts, the crafts. They mark the powers that be In earth, air, water, fire, all banded in his plan And used to the world's hurt as never yet by Man. They look on Thee, Lord God, as one that careth not, On him as Thy supplanter and the iron as hot Which shall reforge the chain by which the Earth is bound. They fear to awaken Thee from Thy long sleep profound. He hath become their God, one impious and profane, But strong and unreproved, ascendant on Thy wane. They kneel to the new comer as all courtiers use Who fear a change of king. Their news is an ill news, Nay, Lord, 'tis but a lie. I know it well, their story. 'Tis but the man's own boast, his mouthings of vain glory Repeated day by day with long reiterate stress, Till the world half believes in sheer ear-weariness, And they, who think to please, retail it as their own. What say they of him, Lord? That he hath one God alone, Is not as the lewd nations, keepeth Thy Sabbath holy, Nor Thy name vainly taketh in the ways of folly, Hath a wise polity--his Church and State close blent, A lordly bench of bishops, peers of Parliament, A Convocation House which yearly witnesseth A king by grace of God, Defender of the Faith, Thy ten commandments set in all his Courts of Law. They show his fanes restored by highway, hedge and shaw, His missions to the Jews, his Church societies, The zeal of his free sects, each than the rest more wise, The wealth of his chief priests, his weekly public prayer, Things proving him devout more than the nations are. They cite his worldly worth, his virtue these beyond, His high repute in trade, his word held as his bond, The valour of his dealings, his long boast of truth, The prudent continence of his unwedded youth, Uxorious faith in marriage, husband of one wife, Nor taking her next sister to his widowed life. These tales they hear and bring, some true, some false, but all Of the common Saxon brag for first original. So too of his world-science, social schemes, reforms, His school-boards, gaols new systemed, signalling of storms, Posts, railways, Homes for orphans, Charities organised, His Mansion House funds floated, alms economised, His hospitals, museums, baths, parks, workhouses, And that last glorious marvel, his free Daily Press. A wonderful Saxon truly, each day interviewed By his own wondering self and found exceeding good. All this and more they cite. That he hath virtues, well, Let it be granted him. Those pay who most would sell, And more who most would buy. Alms to his credit stand In his account with time, and add strength to his hand, Serving his best advantage in the enlarged domain Of his Man's selfishness, which works for the World's bane More surely than his vices. He hath outlived the day Of the old single graspings, where each went his way Alone to plunder all. He hath learned to curb his lusts Somewhat, to smooth his brawls, to guide his passionate gusts His cry of "mine, mine, mine" in inarticulate wrath. He dareth not make raid on goods his next friend hath With open violence, nor loose his hand to steal, Save in community and for the common weal 'Twixt Saxon man and man. He is more congruous grown, Holding a subtler plan to make the world his own By organised self-seeking in the paths of power. He is new drilled to wait. He knoweth his appointed hour And his appointed prey. Of all he maketh tool, Even of his own sad virtues, to cajole and rule, Even of Thee, Lord God.--I will expound this thing, The creed of these white thieves which boast of Thee, their king, As partner in their crimes. The head knaves of the horde, Those who inspire the rest and give the masterword, The leaders of their thought, their lords political, Sages, kings, poets, priests, in their hearts one and all-- For all their faith avowed and their lip service done In face of Thy high fires each day beneath the sun-- Ay, and their prelates too, their men of godliest worth, Believe no word of Thee as master of their Earth, Controller of their acts, no word of Thy high right, To bend men to obedience and at need to smite, No word of Thy true law, the enforcement of Thy peace, Thy all-deciding arm in the world's policies. They ignore Thee on the Earth. They grant Thee, as their "God," The kingdom of the heavens, seeing it a realm untrod, Untreadable by man, a space, a _res nullius_ Or No-Man's Land, which they as loyal men and pious Leave and assign to Thee to deal with as Thou wilt, To hold as Thy strong throne or loose as water spilt, For sun and wind to gather in the wastes of air. Whether of a truth Thou _art_ they know not, Lord, nor care; Only they name Thee "God," and pay Thee their prayers vain, As dormant over-lord and pensioned suzerain, The mediatised blind monarch of a world, outgrown Of its faith's swaddling clothes, which wills to walk alone. The Earth not so. 'Tis theirs, the prize of the strong hand, The strongest being their own by sea alike and land. "Thy Will be done," they cry, "Father which art in Heaven," (Where Thou canst harm nor hurt not one day in the seven.) And if they add "on Earth" they deem Thee impotent, Seeing Thee drowse thus long and leave men to their bent. They mean "Thy Will in Heaven," or in their "World to come." "Terram autem dedit filiis hominum." 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 More deadly still concealed in his fire drink of death; Who went unclothed, unshamed, for garment a flower wreath; Whose women lived unsold and loved their natural kin, Nor gave aught to the stranger in the wage of sin; Who blessed Thee for their babes and through the woods, like Eve, Wandered in happy laughter, glorying to conceive. Yea, Lord, and there were others,--shut communities Of souls still on Thy path and strange to the new lies, Yet, not as these were, wild, but held in discipline Of orderly commandment, servants true of Thine And doers of Thy law, but ignorant, untaught Save by an inward grace of self-restraining thought And light intuitive. No shedders they of blood, But with all creatures friends, with men in brotherhood, Blameless of wine, of strife. In innocent arts well skilled But schoolless of all guile as an unchristened child. To these with mouthings fine come the white gospellers, Our Saxon mission-men black coated to the ears. "Which be your gods?" ask they; "Do ye adore the Christ? "Know ye the Three in One, or walk ye in the mist?" "Sirs, we have One, not Three. Our poor ancestral wit "Encompasseth no more." "Then be ye damned for it. "This is our Bible, read. In the long after-death "Ye shall be burned with fire. It is God's self that saith." "We do not live again." "In this life, ye shall live "According to our gospel, nor profanely wive "Save with one spouse alone." "Our law hath given us three. "Three Gods to one sole wife were multiplicity." "These pagans are blasphemers! Who is on our side? "See, we have gold to give. We may not be denied." And they baptise them Christians. Cometh the trader next, His bible too in hand, its free-trade for his text. He teacheth them to buy.--"We nothing need." "Yet take. "The want will come anon and keep your wits awake. "Here are the goods we sell, cloth, firelocks, powder, rum, "Ye shall go clothed like lords, like kings of Christendom." "We live best naked." "Fie."--"We have no use for arms. "The fire drink is forbid." "The thing forbid hath charms. "Nay. We will make you men, soldiers to brawl and fight "As all good Christians use, and God defend the right. "The drink will give you courage. Take it. 'Tis the sign "Of manhood orthodox, its sacramental wine, "Or how can you be worthy your new Christian creed? "Drink." And they drink to Jesus and are borne to bed. He teacheth them to sell. "We need coin for our draught. "How shall we bring the price, since ye give naught for naught? "We crave the fire drink now."--"Friends, let not that prevent. "We lend on all your harvests, take our cent. per cent." "Sirs, but the crop is gone."--"There is your land in lots." "The land? It was our fathers'."--"Curse ye for idle sots, "A rascal lazing pack. Have ye no hands to work? "Off to the mines and dig, and see it how ye shirk."-- "As slaves?" "No, not as _slaves_. Our principles forbid. "_Free labourers_, if you will. We use that word instead. "The 'dignity of labour' ye shall learn for hire. "No paltering. No excuse. The white man hates a liar, "And hates a grumbling hand. Enough if we provide "Tools with the drink and leave your backs with a whole hide. "These lands are ours by Charter. If you doubt it, bring "Your case before the Courts, which will expound the thing. "As for your women folk. Look, there are ways well known "All women have of living in a Christian town. "Moreover you do ill. One wife the law allows, "And you, you say, have four. Send three round to our house." --Thus is Thy gospel preached. Its issue, Lord, behold In the five Continents, the new world and the old. The happier tribes of Man despoiled, enslaved, betrayed To the sole white Man's lust, husband and wife and maid. Their laughter drowned in tears, their kindness in mad wrath, Their dignity of joy in a foul trance of death, Till at the last they turn and in their anguish rend. Then loud the cry goeth forth, the white man's to each friend: "Help! Christians, to our help! These black fiends murder us." And the last scene is played in death's red charnel house. The Saxon anger flames. His ships in armament Bear slaughter on their wings. The Earth with fire is rent, And the poor souls misused are wiped from the world's face In one huge imprecation from the Saxon race, In one huge burst of prayer and insolent praise to Thee, Lord God, for Thy high help and proved complicity. Nay Lord, 'tis not a lie, the thing I tell Thee thus. Their bishops in their Churches lead, incredulous, The public thanks profane. They sanctify the sword-- "Te Deum laudamus. Give peace in our time, O Lord." Hast Thou not heard their chanting? Nay, Thou dost not hear, Or Thou hadst loosed Thy hand like lightning in the clear To smite their ribald lips with palsy, these false priests, These Lords who boast Thine aid at their high civic feasts, The ignoble shouting crowds, the prophets of their Press, Pouring their daily flood of bald self-righteousness, Their poets who write big of the "White Burden." Trash! The White Man's Burden, Lord, is the burden of his cash. --There. Thou hast heard the truth. Thy world, Lord God of Heaven, Lieth in the hands of thieves who pillage morn and even. And Thou still sleepest on! Nay but Thou needs must hear Or abdicate Thy name of High Justiciar Henceforward and for ever. It o'erwhelmeth Thee With more than temporal shame. Thy silence is a Sea Crying through all the spheres in pain and ceasing not As blood from out the ground to mark crime's murder spot: "There is no hope--no truth. He hath betrayed the trust. "The Lord God is unjust. The Lord God is unjust." (_A cry without._) This is their cry in Heaven who give Thee service true. Arise, Lord, and avenge as was Thy wont to do.

(_The Angels re-enter in disorder, weeping_).

THE LORD GOD

What tears be these, my Sons? What ails ye that ye weep? Speak, Shepherds of the flock! Ye that have cared my sheep, Ye that are charged with Man. Is it as this One saith? Is Satan then no liar who loudly witnesseth Man's ruin of the World?

THE ANGEL OF PITY (_coming forward_)

Lord, it is even so Thy Earth is a lost force, Man's lazar-house of woe, Undone by his lewd will. We may no longer strive. The evil hath prevailed. There is no soul alive That shall escape his greed. We spend our days in tears Mourning Thy world's lost beauty in the night of years. All pity is departed. Each once happy thing That on Thy fair Earth went, how fleet of foot or wing, How glorious in its strength, how wondrous in design, How royal in its raiment tinctured opaline, How rich in joyous life, the inheritor of forms All noble, all of worth, which had survived the storms, The chances of decay in the World's living plan, From the remote fair past when still ignoble Man On his four foot-soles went and howled through the lone hills In moody bestial wrath, unclassed among Earth's ills-- Each one of them is doomed. From the deep Central Seas To the white Poles, Man ruleth pitiless Lord of these, And daily he destroyeth. The great whales he driveth Beneath the northern ice, and quarter none he giveth, Who perish there of wounds in their huge agony. He presseth the white bear on the white frozen sea And slaughtereth for his pastime. The wise amorous seal He flayeth big with young, the walrus cubs that kneel But cannot turn his rage, alive he mangleth them, Leaveth in breathing heaps, outrooted branch and stem. In every land he slayeth. He hath new engines made Which no life may withstand, nor in the forest shade Nor in the sunlit plain, which wound all from afar, The timorous with the valiant, waging his false war, Coward, himself unseen. In pity, Lord, look down On the blank widowed plains which he hath made his own By right of solitude. Where, Lord God, are they now, Thy glorious bison herds, Thy ariels white as snow, Thy antelopes in troops, the zebras of Thy plain? Behold their whitened bones on the dull track of men. Thy elephants, Lord, where? For ages thou didst build Their frames' capacity, the hide which was their shield No thorn might pierce, no sting, no violent tooth assail, The tusks which were their levers, the lithe trunk their flail. Thou strengthenedst their deep brain. Thou madest them wise to know And wiser to ignore, advised, deliberate, slow, Conscious of power supreme in right. The manifest token Of Thy high will on earth, Thy natural peace unbroken, Unbreakable by fear. For ages did they move Thus, kings of Thy deep forest swayed by only love. Where are they now, Lord God? A fugitive spent few Used as Man's living targets by the ignoble crew Who boast their coward skill to plant the balls that fly. Thy work of all time spoiled, their only use to die That these sad clowns may laugh. Nay, Lord, we weep for _Thee_, And spend ourselves in tears for Thy marred majesty. Behold, Lord, what we bring--this last proof in our hands, Their latest fiendliest spoil from Thy fair tropic lands, The birds of all the Earth unwinged to deck the heads Of their unseemly women; plumage of such reds As not the sunset hath, such purples as no throne, Not even in heaven, showeth,--hardly, Lord, Thine own; Such azures as the sea's, such greens as are in Spring The oak trees' tenderest buds of watched-for blossoming, Such opalescent pearls as only in Thy skies The lunar bow revealeth to night's sleep-tired eyes. Behold them, Lord of Beauty, Lord of Reverence, Lord of Compassion, Thou who meetest means to ends, Nor madest Thy world fair for less than Thine own fame, Behold Thy birds of joy lost, tortured, put to shame For these vile strumpets' whim. Arise, or cease to be Judge of the quick and dead! These dead wings cry to Thee! Arise, Lord, and avenge!

THE ANGELS

We wait upon Thy word.

(_The Lord God covereth His face._)

SATAN

Thou hearest them, Lord God.

THE LORD GOD

Good Satan, I have heard. Thou art more just than I--alas, more just than I.

THE ANGELS

Behold the Lord God weepeth.

THE ANGEL OF PITY

What eyes should be dry If for a crime eyes weep? This crime transcendeth crime. And the Lord God hath pity--in His own good time.

THE LORD GOD

Alas, the time is late. I do repent Me sore The wrong I did thee, Satan, in those griefs of yore. The wrong I did the Earth. Yet is Eternity A long day for atonement. Thou thyself shalt be My instrument here of wrath to purge this race of Man And cast him on Time's dunghill, whence he first began. What, Angel, is thy counsel? Shall we unseal again The fountains of the heavens, send our outpoured rain, And flood him with new waters? Shall it be by fire? Shall we embraize the earth in one vast funeral pyre By impact of a star? let loose a sulphurous wind? Belch rocks from the Earth's bowels? Shall we strike Man blind With an unbearable light? Shall we so shake the hills, The plains, that he fall palsied, grind him in the mills Of a perpetual hail, importune him with snow, Scourge him with noise unceasing, or the glutinous flow Of a long pestilent stench? Speak, Satan, all thy thought, Thou who the traitor knowest. How may he be brought Best to annihilation?

SATAN

Lord, by none of these, Thy floods, Thy flames, Thy storms were puerilities. He hath too large a cunning to be taken thus. He would outride Thy waves, outblast Thy sulphurous Winds with his counter-winds. He liveth on foul air As on the breath of heaven. He hath nor thought nor care For Thy worst lightning strokes, holding their principle Rock-firm in his own hand. All natural powers fulfil His brain's omnipotence. He standeth at each point Armed for defiant war in harness without joint. Though Thou shouldst break the Earth in twain he should not bend. Thou needest a force to aid Thee, an ally, a friend, A principle of good which shall outwit his guile With true white guilelessness, his anger with a smile, His force with utter weakness. Only thus, Lord God, Shalt Thou regain Thy Earth, a purified abode, And rid it of the Human.

THE LORD GOD

And the means? Thy plan Needeth a new redemption.

SATAN

Ay, but not of Man. He is beyond redeeming, or Thy Son had died Not wholly to this loss. Who would be crucified To-day must choose another, a young fleshly form, Free from the simian taint, were it but flower or worm, Or limpet of the rock, or grieving nightingale, Wherein to preach his gospel. Yet should he prevail, If only for truth's sake and that this latest lie Should be laid bare to shame, Time's fraud, Humanity. Choose Thee an Angel, Lord; it were enough. Thy Son Was a price all too great even had the world been won. Nor can it be again. An Angel shall suffice For Thy new second sending, so Thou guide the choice To a more reasoned issue--so Thou leave Mankind Henceforth to his sole ways as at his outset, blind To all but his own lusts, untutored by Thy grace. This is the road, Lord God. I bow before Thy face. I make Thee my submission to do all Thy will, So Thou absolve and pardon.

THE LORD GOD

O incomparable Good servant, Satan, thou art absolved indeed. It was _thy_ right to pardon thy God's lack of heed, His wrath at thy wise counsel. Nay, thou shamest Me. Be thou absolved, good Angel, Ego absolvo te Ab omnibus peccatis. Once more be it thy right To stand before God's throne for ever in His sight, And trusted more than these. Speak, Satan, what thou wilt, All shall be granted thee, the glory with the guilt Of the Earth lost and won. Who is it thou wouldst send Agent and messenger to work to this new end? What Angel of them all? I pledge thee My full faith It shall be as thou wilt.

SATAN

Who goeth must die the death, Since death is all life's law, and taste of corporal pain. And whoso dieth must die, nor think to live again.

THE LORD GOD

Shall it be Michael? Speak.

SATAN

Nay, Lord, nor Gabriel. They are Thy servants tried, who love Thy Heaven too well. Thou shalt not drive them forth to the wild wastes of Earth. What should they do, Lord God, with a terrestrial birth, With less than Thy long joys? Nay, rather choose Thee one Already marred with grief with Time's disunion, One all too sad for Heaven, to whom Eternity Is as a charge o'erspent, who hath no fear to die, But gladly would lie down and be for aye no more, The flotsam of Time's waves upon Death's outer shore, Forgotten and forgetting. Grant me, Lord God, this, In penance for the past, Death's full forgetfulness.

THE LORD GOD

And thou wouldst be incarnate?

SATAN