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Only helper, savior and preserver. The whiteness of your hands is gilt with crimson And your feet are the strong feet of a runner. Your head is crowned with a crown of thorns, And most precious drops drip down your pale and resolute face.

POET: Oh, Revolution, dread angel of the Awful Presence, Warder at the gate of tears. Open and set the captive free. Dark, silent, loving, cruel and merciful one. Hold yourself not aloof. Is there not enough?

You are our only hope, our only redeemer. Come, with thunder and with lightning. That the air may be clear. Come, with deluge and tempest, that the earth may be

purified. Come, with agony and bloody rain, that Life may be born

anew. The glad life of a perfect peace, and songs stirring the air. Pitch head-long from the cloudy battlements And, with heavenly fire, utterly destroy This distorted and mis-shapen world.

TRUTH: Oh, blessed Revolution, born of the love for the

generations. Oh, blessed Revolution, Giver of Life.

POET: The victims of the God of Gold No longer march into his blood-dripping maw. Their faces are set toward Death. Their breasts are naked.

They have beaten their hammers and saws into knives. Their eyes are fixed. They are willing to die.

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