Condemned by blood to reach for grapes
That hang in sight, however high,
Beyond the smoke of Asian capes,
The nameless, dauntless, dead ones lie;
And where Sierran morning shines
On summits rolling out like waves,
By many a brow of royal pines
The noisiest find quiet graves.
By lust of flesh and lust of gold,
And depth of loins and hairy breadth
Of breast, and hands to take and hold,
And boastful scorn of pain and death,
And something more of manliness
Than tamer men, and growing shame
Of shameful things, and something less
Of final faith in sword and flame --
By many a battle fought for wrong,
And many a battle fought for right,
So have you grown august and strong,
Magnificent in all men's sight --
A voice for which the kings have ears,
A face the craftiest statesmen scan;
A mind to mould the after years,
And mint the destinies of man!
Red sins were yours: the avid greed
Of pirate fathers, smocked as Grace,
Sent Judas missioners to read
Christ's Word to many a feebler race --
False priests of Truth who made their tryst
At Mammon's shrine, and reft or slew --
Some hands you taught to pray to Christ
Have prayed His curse to rest on you!
Your way has been to pluck the blade
Too readily, and train the guns.
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