“He holds a pistol to my head,
Swearing that he will shoot me dead,
If he have not my purse instead,
The robber!”
“He, with the lash of wealth and power,
Flogs out my heart and flings the dower,
The plundered pittance of his hour,
The robber!”
“He shakes his serpent tongue that lies,
Wins trust for poisoned sophistries
And stabs me in the dark, and flies,
The assassin!”
“He pits me in the dreadful fight
Against my fellow. Then he quite
Strips both his victims in the night,
The assassin!”
“PRAYER.”
This is what I pray
In this horrible day,
In this terrible night,
God will give me light.
Such as I have had,
That I go not mad.
This is what I seek,
God will keep me meek
Till mine eyes behold,
Till my lips have told
All this hellish crime.—
Then it’s sleeping time!
TO THE CHRISTIANS.
Take, then, your paltry Christ,
Your gentleman God.
We want the carpenter’s son,
With his saw and hod.
We want the man who loved
The poor and oppressed,
Who hated the rich man and king
And the scribe and the priest.