See the wise ruler—­father of Brazil,
Who struck the shackles from a million slaves,
Whose reign was peace and love and gentleness,
Despoiled and driven from the land he loves. 
See jealous Labor strike the hand that feeds,
And burn the mills that grind his daily bread;
Yea, in blind rage denounce the very laws
That shield his home from Europe’s pauperdom. 
See the grieved farmer raise his horny hand
And splutter garlic.  Hear the demagogues
Fist-maul the wind and weather-cock the crowd,
With brazen foreheads full of empty noise
Out-bellowing the bulls of Bashan; and behold
Shrill, wrinkled Amazons in high harangue
Stamp their flat feet and gnash their toothless gums,
And flaunt their petticoat-flag of “Liberty.” 
Hear the old bandogs of the Daily Press,
Chained to their party posts, or fetter-free
And running amuck against old party creeds,
On-howl their packs and glory in the fight. 
See mangy curs, whose editorial ears
Prick to all winds to catch the popular breeze,
Slang-whanging yelp, and froth and snap and snarl,
And sniff the gutters for their daily food. 
And these—­are they our prophets and our priests? 
Hurra!—­Hurra!—­Hurra!—­for “Liberty!”
Flaunt the red flag and flutter the petticoat;
Ran-tan the drums and let the bugles bray,
The eagle scream and sixty million throats
Sing Yankee-doodle—­Yankee-doodle-doo.

The state is sick and every fool a quack
Running with pills and plasters and sure-cures,
And every pill and package labelled Ism. 
See Liberty run mad, and Anarchy,
Bearing the torch, the dagger and the bomb
Red-mouthed run riot in her sacred name
Hear mobs of idlers cry—­"Equality! 
Let all men share alike:  divide, divide!"
Butting their heads against the granite rocks
Of Nature and the eternal laws of God. 
Pull down the toiler, lift the idler up! 
Despoil the frugal, crown the negligent! 
Offer rewards to idleness and crime! 
And pay a premium for improvidence! 
Fools, can your wolfish cries repeal the laws
Of God engraven on the granite hills,
Written in every Wrinkle of the earth,
On every plain, on every mountain-top,—­
Nay, blazened o’er all the boundless Universe
On every jewel that sparkles on God’s throne? 
And can ye rectify God’s mighty plan? 
O pygmies, can ye measure God himself? 
Aye, would ye measure God’s almighty power,
Go—­crack Earth’s bones and heave the granite hills;
Measure the ocean in a drinking-cup;
Measure Eternity by the town-clock;
Nay, with a yard-stick measure the Universe: 
Measure for measure.  Measure God by man! 
“Fools to the midmost marrow of your bones!”
O buzzing flies and gnats!  Ye cannot strike
One little atom from God’s Universe,
Or warp the laws of Nature by a hair!