Majestic, sublime, round the great wheel of Time,
The earth thru the ages rolls on;
From shadow to light, from the star-sprinkled night
To the gold and the roses of dawn;
But the hordes of mankind to the spectacle blind,
With faces bowed down to the dust,
Creep on to their graves as the manacled slaves
Of selfishness, hatred, and lust.
They turn from the dream of the glories that gleam
In the deific light of the stars,
And cease to aspire as they kneel in the mire
At the altars of Mammon and Mars.
The miracles wrought in the kingdom of thought,
The wealth of the empire of art,
The magical spell of the passions that dwell
In the innermost realms of the heart,
The beauties that beam over forest and stream,
The grandeur of mountain and sea,
The path of the soul to an immortal goal,
The vision of glories to be,
The music, the light, and the dream infinite,
Our greed and our hatred are bars
That shut them all out, while we turn us about
To the worship of Mammon and Mars.
In liberty's morn was our century born,
Foretelling an era of right;
We're straying away from the light of that day
To the gloom of the old feudal night.
Our fathers began at the freedom of man,
But we have forgotten it all;
We seek our recourse in the doctrine of force,
The gospel of powder and ball.
In newly-blown pride we are pushing aside
The Christ with His wounds and His scars,
We turn from the cross to the worship of dross
At the altar of Mammon and Mars.