Classic Poem

This is the Song of the Weak
Trod 'neath the heel of the Strong!
This is the Song of the hearts that break
And bleed as we ride along,—
From sea to sea we singing sweep, but this is the slain man's Song!

Southward, a shriek of pain,
As the martyr'd races fall!
The wild man's land and his herds we gain,
With the gold that's best of all,—
Because the leaves of the tree are black 'tis meet that they should fall!

Eastward, another cry,
Wrung from the black and red!
But merrily our hosts go by,
Trampling the quick and dead,—
'Tis meet that the heathen tribes should starve, and the Christian dogs be fed.

Westward, close at the door,
A cry for bread and light!
But lo, we hug our golden store
And feast from morn to night:—
Our brother Esau must perish too, altho' his skin be white!

In the name of the Jingo-Christ
We raise our savage song,
In gold the martyr's blood is priced
Wherever we march along,
How should we heed our brother's cry,—he is weak and we are strong!

We have sow'd, and lo! we reap,
We are strong, and lo! we slay;
We are lords of Earth and Deep,
And this is our triumph-day,—
The broken wave and the broken heart are spent, and vanish away!

Ever the Weak must fall
Under the strength of the Strong!
And God (they say), who is Lord of all,
Smiles as we sweep along;
Yet tho' we are strong and our song is loud, this is the slain man's Song!