So they made a point of parting ev'ry husband from his wife
And dividing ev'ry maiden from her lover;
If a workman drooped or sickened they would jab him with a knife,
And then leave him by the roadside to recover.
If he grumbled or grew restive they would amputate a hand,
Just to show him how unsafe it was to blubber,
Till with infinite solicitude they made him understand
The necessity of cultivating "rubber."
Thus the merry work progresses, as it must progress forsooth,
While these pioneers are sharp and firm and wary,—
And the Congo is reluctantly compelled to own the truth
Of that motto "Laborare est orare."
Though the Belgians sometimes wonder, on their tenderhearted days,
(When the little children scream as they abduct them),
If the natives CAN supply sufficient rubber to erase
The effect of such endeavours to instruct them
Tho' within the royal bosom a suspicion there may lurk
That these practices offend the sister-nations,
That one cannot safely advocate "the sanctity of work,"
By a policy of theft and mutilations,—
Yet wherever on the Congo Belgium's banner is unfurled,
Where the atmosphere is redolent and sunny,
I am sure the Monarch's methods must be giving to the world
Some ideas upon the "sanctity of money!"
And, if so, I am not boasting when I mention once again
That the Ruler of the Congo has not surely ruled in vain!