Part 13

He’d see what God’s image looks like When men have dealt with the same, Wrinkled with work that is never done, Swollen and dirty with shame. He’d see on the children’s forehead The branded gutter-sign That marks the girls to be harlots, That dooms the boys to be swine.

Then He’d say, “What’s the good of churches When these have nowhere to sleep? And how can I hear you praying When they are cursing so deep? I gave My Blood and My Body That they might have bread and wine, And you have taken your share and theirs Of these good gifts of mine!”

Then some of the rich would be sorry, And all would be very scared, And they’d say, “But we never knew, Lord!” And He’d say, “You never cared!” And some would be sick and shameful Because they’d know that they knew, And the best would say, “We were wrong, Lord. Now tell us what to do!”

I think He’d be sitting, likely, For someone ’ud bring Him a chair, With a common kid cuddled up on His knee And the common sun on His hair; And they’d be standing before Him, And He’d say, “You know that you knew. Why haven’t you worked for your brothers The same as I worked for you?

“For since you’re all of you brothers It’s clear as God’s blessed sun That each must work for the others, Not thousands work for one. And the ones that have lived bone-idle If they want Me to hear them pray, Let them go and work for their livings The only honest way!

“I’ve got nothing new to tell you, You know what I always said— But you’ve built their bones into churches And stolen their wine and bread; You with My Name on your foreheads, Liar, and traitor, and knave, You have lived by the death of your brothers, These whom I died to save!”

I wish He would come and say it; Perhaps they’d believe it then, And work like men for their livings And let us work like men. Brothers? They don’t believe it, The lie on their lips is red. They’ll never believe till He comes again, Or till we rise from the dead!

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Printed by the Anchor Press, Ltd., Tiptree, Essex, England.