Classic Poem

We, Mammon, have made you free,
Westerners, sons of the high noon,
Body and spirit glad!
Out of the evil, like yourself, that is in us,
Out of the good, like daylight in our blood,
We have gone down to your habitation!
The caverns of gluttony, wilderness of lust,
Litter of broken dreams and gold-clogged hopes,
Fearless we passed and drew you forth;
You of the shrunken body, and sun-blind eyes,
God of the hollowed hands,
Huge, web-fingered, older than Cain,
Hands that have held the earth,
As a thin-shelled, misformed egg,
And hatched it to their shape.
You do we place above us in the square,
And worship with bold eyes;
For we are weary of praying in the dark,
Denying whom we love,
Neglecting our benefactor.
Do we not know with whom we walk and live?
O Builder, Wrecker of the blind, brute ways,
Your strength is hunger and your grip is need.
You may we not put off!
Ever the body chain must bind us to you;
How far we go, we may not lose its straining;
The very stars we win are bought in bondage,

And not one deed but bears the shackle's scar
Across its root.
All that is good, swift-growing, wide and free
Beneath the hands of men,
Lives of your nourishment,
And who would work his will in love and dream
Must bear your gifts.

Wherefore, Mammon, the word!
After the age-old night, the fearful hiding,
You stand beneath the day,
Reclaimed of men.
And men shall give to you,
By all the healing wonder of the sun,