Page:The Soul of a Century.djvu/106

 Watch our master’s whip of power Waving high above his cheeks, While its swishing tune, in keeping Blasphemously thus he speaks: “See how gay and many colored Are these knots so closely tied, Like a maze of snakes entwining, Are these squirming straps of hide.

Listen how harmoniously Hisses every single snake, How he twists and turns and cringes, Your bent backs to overtake And to make its fangs of venom Seem less cruel, feel more tame, To each motley colored viper, I will give some lofty name.

Look! This strap is FAITH OF MANKIND That commands the slaving hordes; Bear on earth your masters’ burdens Up in heaven, seek rewards, And this swishing strand is JUSTICE From your backs its hide was torn, With your blood, theron is written “I’m your master, slaves forlorn.”

This firm knot is labelled CUSTOM: KNOWLEDGE, HABIT, all are here; Even LIBERTY and ORDER In this cruel farce appear. HUMANISM is this leather, TRUTH and HONOR in this whip; All these attributes to pick from, Sing and swish here in my grip.

Yes, your father and your grandad Were whipped too, with these same straps, They’re a heritage of ages, Consecrated by time’s lapse. If you wish, I’ll decorate them With new ornaments and knacks Just as long as my fist holds them, You will feel them on your backs.