  Symbol of all that's mean and base in man— Of pompous pride and cringing cowardice, Of titled folly and of plodding slaves, Of groaning labor robbed by cunning knaves, Of priests and lordlings, an infernal clan, Who live by force, and fraud, and artifice. The crown, associated with the cross, Is held up by the church as the reward Of souls that blindly follow in the lead Of priests who advocate a stupid creed! "A crown of gold," and nothing else, for loss Of common sense, full payment can accord! "No cross, no crown"—self-evidently true, But not in the delusive sense implied; If men beneath the cross would not bow down, No devil, pope, or king, could wear a crown; But they will wear it all the ages through That men are willing to be crucified. A crown denotes that some usurper rules, And subjects, weak and ignorant, submit; But in a realm where all are equal, free, No one can rule, none can submissive be; But hell and tyrants love to torture fools, And only fools will long consent to it. The weak in mind, abused and plundered here, Have silly hopes that they will all be kings, Because the sons of Mammon tell them so; While to the yoke they bow their necks below, They praise a tyrant in another sphere Who is to crown them over underlings! When hell's dark agents nailed the Nazarene Upon the cross they, mocking, hailed him king; Since then the mockery they have kept up, And all his friends have drank the bitter cup, And worn the crown of thorns, and felt the keen Thrust of the spear, and heard the taunting fling. All seekers after truth, and right, and fact, The men of science and the thinkers bold, Are friends of Christ, and seek to do his work, By letting in the light mid darkness murk, That shrouds the cross and crown; but every act Is met by hell's dark minions, as of old. With faggot and the prison's loathsome cell, They've done their worst to stifle human thought Their plea that it is impious to explore The realms of Nature's secrets, or to tell Aught to the mass of men by priests not taught. Hell to the world holds up a God of wrath— Omniscient tyrant, sitting on a throne, Wearing a royal diadem of gold, While fawn around and praise him throngs untold In numbers, who by adoration hath Secured his special favors as their own! All who refuse this homage are cast out From Heaven and happiness forevermore, Their souls to burn in torments without end Or hope that they can ever make amend For harboring on earth an honest doubt, And failing their "creator" to adore! And the offense is in the disbelief, For no good thoughts or deeds can help the soul; Nor good intentions, or most honest aims Can save it from the everlasting flames; But blind consent alone can banish grief From one submissive to the priest's control! This God is arbitrary, full of freaks, Damns without reason, without worth rewards; An upright life with him no favor finds; He fettered sinners with delight unbinds, His vengeance—them his special hate accords! To those who ask for bread he giveth stone, Or empty promises he may fulfill In realms of future life—sometime, somewhere, And thus the soul feeds on deceit and air As long as flesh hangs to the aching bone— Till all is sacrificed that earth can kill. This is no teaching of the Nazarene; It is a scheme of hell to chain the mind And keep mankind subjected to its sway, And to its priests and tools an easy prey— A plot the souls of men to make unclean And toward perdition willingly inclined. Who cannot see that hell set up this God For purpose foul, and crowned him King of All?— A model of the human lord and king Who rule below and make their subjects bring Homage and pelf to buy approving nod, While in their train the meaner creatures crawl. His favorites, the meanest of mankind, Are quite content the people should believe That they will win a crown beyond the grave, If they will only be content to slave And bow to robber rule, nor seek to find The light which might their faith here undeceive. To make the picture more like earth and real, As kings on earth have rivals to the throne, So God must have a rival dark and proud Who, like himself, can never fill a shroud; But, fiercely overthrown in the ideal, This rival has no mercy to him shown. 'Tis all infernal—a delusive spell Thrown o'er the minds of men to keep them down; In fear the Nazarene, with teachings pure, The mental blindness of the world should cure, And break the hoary reign of brutal hell, It mockingly presented him a crown. True, 'twas a crown of thorns; but, mocking still, It gave a spirit crown, and made him Son And equal of the tyrant it had made, And in fantastic glory had arrayed, To rule the saints submissive to the will Of those who church and state in secret run. |
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