Trust ye the Nations of the Earth
From sea to farthest sea—
But trust ye not, Oh trust ye not
The wily Japanee.
Truth? A jest o’ the High and Low—
A juggler’s tossing toy—
A two-faced guile and a child-like smile—
(Oh Innocence sans alloy!)
Honor? An empty mockery
Beneath the Sunrise Sky;
A hollow, vain, fanatic strain
That lifts with the loud “Banzai!”
Virtue? Not even a figurehead,
So scarce indeed thou art.
Rank to the core a shameless sore
In a yet more shameless heart.
Faith? A faithless phantom
That knows no law or creed.
To flare and wane for the moment’s gain,
And serve the moment’s need.
Trust ye the Nations of the Earth
From sea to farthest sea—
But trust ye not, Oh trust ye not
The wily Japanee.
THE NEW BARD
They had sung the song how very long
Of Love and Faith and Truth:
And they polished fine till it ran as wine,
With never a spot uncouth.
Mellow it spread with softened tread
To the beat of the perfect time—
Chastened and blest and colorless
In stilted, vapid rhyme.