Anathema Maranatha

Deeper and deeper the Tyrant's lash flayeth,
Swifter and swifter fierce Misery slayeth;

Tighter and tighter the grip of Toil groweth,
Nearer and nearer the dark Ruin floweth.

And still ye bear on, and ye faint heart and breath,
Till ye creep, scourged hounds, to your kennel of
death:

O down to the dust with ye, cowards and slaves,
Plague-stricken cumber-grounds, slink to your graves!

Love is the crown of all life, but ye wear it not;
Freedom, Humanity's palm, and ye bear it not;
Beauty spreads banquet for all, but ye share it not;
Grimmer the blinding veil glooms, and ye tear it not.
Weaving your life-flowers in Wrong's robe of glory,
Ye stint in your starkness with hearts smitten hoary!
O down to the dust with ye, cowards and slaves,
Plague-stricken cumber-grounds, slink to your graves!

They have broken our hearts for their hunger, and
trod
The wine-press for Death, with the grapes of our God;
And ye lick their feet, red with your blood, like dumb
cattle!

Ah I better and braver to meet them in battle!

The bow that Tell drew hath lost none of its spring,
Bat ye nerve not with daring the arrow and string:
Then down to the dust with ye, cowards and slaves,
Plague-stricken cumber-grounds, slink to your graves!

There's a curse on the Mammonites fiery and fell,
Whose hearts gold hath turned into hearthstones of
hell;
And there's wringing of hands with the Knave and
the Tyrant,
For God's graven autograph's on their death-warrant.
While lordlier manhood 'neath Freedom's heart
yearneth,
Up now! while before ye the fire-pillar burneth!
Or down to the dust with ye, cowards and slaves,
Down down for ever, and slink to your graves!