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Song of the Angels

Reason is unbridled yet,
Love is still a dream;
Thy work remains unfinished still,
O Craftsman of Eternity!

The days and nights revolve,
Unfolding evils new;
The rulers of body and soul,
Are ruthless tyrants, all.

The rich are drunk with wealth;
The pious are drunk with piety;
The homeless wander in the streets,
The lords of palaces are Olympian.

Learning, religion, art and science,
Are all slaves of greed;
Thy love that solves all riddles,
Has yet to shower its blessings.


RISE, and from their slumber wake the poor ones of My world 
Shake the walis and windows of the mansions of the great! 
Kindle with the fire of faith the slow blood of the slaves 
Make the fearful sparrow bold to meet the falcon's hate! 
Close the hour approaches of the kingdom of the poor—
Every imprint of the past find and annihilate! 
Find the field whose harvest is no peasant's daily bread—
Garner in the furnace every ripening ear of wheat! 
Banish from the house of God the mumbling priest whose prayers
Like a veil creation from Creator separate!
God by mm's prostrations, by man's vows are idols cheated-. 
Quench at once in My shrine and their fane the sacred light!
Rear for me another temple, build its walls with mud—
Wearied of their columned marbles, sickened is My sight!
All their fine new world a workshop filled with brittle glass-
Go! My poet of the East to madness dedicate.

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