In chains and shackles closely bound;
They say I am a prisoner;

Although in this small cell I'm found,
A prisoner I am not.

The door is made of iron bars,
The lock is large and strong,

But my mind soars free, up to the stars,
As if I'd done no wrong.

The mind of man is ever free,
By nature's law itself,

While this wicked, wretched corpus
May be laid upon the shelf.

What of this wretched body?
What care we for this hand?

But there's one thing safe to wager on,

"That mind's the standard of the Man."

They may chain me fast unto the rock,
And bind both hands and feet;

They may keep me far off in the dark,
Where friends I cannot meet;

They may call me vile and wicked wretch,
And murderer and thief;

They may say I am an infidel
And steeped in unbelief;

They may say I'm false and awful bad,
And lend not a helping hand;

They may sow the seed North, East, South, West,
Far, far throughout the land;

They may go right on with falsity
And it publish like a ban,

But there's one thing safe to wager on,

"That mind's the standard of the Man."

If the mind was easy to be read,
And another for to see,

There would prisoner after prisoner
Immediately be set free.

If conscience was as easy known
As another's words to hear,

There would not be half so many men
That society would fear.

But what do people think or care
What's in another's brain,

So long as they can all conceal
The evil in their frame.

There are a few who secretly
Do not conceal their sham,

But there's one thing safe to wager on,

"That mind's the standard of the Man."

If every one was now compelled
To show life in true attire,

They'd cause the picture to be marred
And cast into the fire.

They'd blush with shame to bring to light
Black spots upon their life;

They kick, and squirm, and twist about,
And fight it with a strife.

Where is the man on this vile earth
But what has done some wrong,

And in his mind's concealed it,
Tho' it stings him like a thong?

There ne'er was one except the Christ
Who'd be perfect in the land!

But there's one thing safe to wager on,

"That mind's the standard of the Man."

What if all conscience could be searched
Clear through with cathode rays,

How many would cheerfully submit,
Who'd reached their manhood days?

It might not be the blackest crime
Known to the criminal code,

But can it be sufficiently white
To call it very good?

It may not be so good nor bad,
Nor bad nor good indeed,

But is it plenty good enough
As a standard for a creed?

You may keep it hid in an air-tight box.
With psychological band,

Then, you see, 'tis safe to wager

"That mind's the standard of the Man."

So long as minds cannot be seen
And pictured to the folk,

So long there'll be deceitfulness
Played by the earthly crook.

The modern shylock now, who craves
The sentence of the court,

Is just the man who, many times,
Society he has hurt.

He stands aloof from other folk,
And cries with a loud voice:

"Down, down, with evil and all crime!
Arise, my friends, rejoice!"

But turn on him the cathode rays
And search him, if you can,

You'll be convinced, beyond a doubt,

"That mind's the standard of the Man."

There's many a man who's been misjudged.
And met his doom and fate;

And the truth thereof could ne'er be learned
Until it was too late.

If cathode rays could have been used,
And falsehood put to flight,

There's many a false and trumped up charge
Would be knocked clear out of sight.

If the mind of man could only be,
With this mysterious light,

Just brought out plain on canvas,
In colors clear and bright,

It would spread the truth both far and near,
Just like a marriage ban,

That the rule ordained by nature is

"That mind's the standard of the Man."

Now, when with cathode rays supplied,
You start out for a search,

Just drop around some Sabbath morn
And peep into a church.

If one bald deacon, on his breast,
Wears a diamond bright and clear,

Just shoot cathode across his pate
And see what's buried there.

Then up into the pulpit,
Where the priest all devils dare,

And dart the rays around, about,
And see what's buried there.

Then to the courtroom wend your way,
To where the judges ran,

Then bet your bottom dollar

"That mind's the standard of the Man."

Then down into our Congress halls
Make a dash both bold and free,

And shoot cathode right through them all
And see what you can see.

Then back into the halls of State,
And catch them, one and all,

And learn yourself, beyond a doubt,
How many are there to fall.

Don't be surprised if now you find
Most foul and blackened crimes,

Because they're plotting for the gold,
No matter what the times.

Try and discover, then and there,
The gold bonds, if you can,

And remember, what is true as truth,

"That mind's the standard of the Man."

Then, when you're done with the outside world,
And all of Congress halls,

Return to me and take a walk
Within these dismal walls.

I'll show you men who represent
Each county in this State;

They're all accused of crime, you know,
And sentenced to their fate.

But don't be hasty now to judge
These men you see about;

Fire cathode rays right through their skulls
And you may find a doubt.

Courts, lawyers and prejudiced jurors
Will convict if they can,

But there's one thing safe to wager on,

"That mind's the standard of the Man."

In here you'll find there's many a mind
As free from sin and crime

As congressmen and senators
Who've been there a long time.

Some of these men in here, you see,
They got a little tight,

And broke into a chicken coop,
Because 'twas in the night.

Some men you see as you walk with me
Down through these halls so dreary,

Have, on bended knee, prayed to be free
Until life's become weary.

They have no money, neither friends,
Because they're far behind the van,

But still 'tis safe to wager

"That mind's the standard of the Man."

And now because my enemies
Have chained me tight and fast,

And cruel, heartless, brutal curs
Would hold me to the last—

Look here! I'll freely now submit,
Turn on your cathode rays

And learn, if now 'tis not too late,
The evil of my ways.

Then go up to that old bribed judge,
And prosecutor, too,

And bring their conscience here by mine
And search all through and through.

Look sharp! And now compare their minds
With this one, if you can,

And then apply the golden rule,

"That mind's the standard of the Man."

Oh, men of science! if you can
Employ the cathode rays

To take the place of jurymen
In those our latter days;

Let not a man upon the bench
To judge another's fate,

Until to cathode he's been sent
To search beneath his pate!

If then you see his mind is free
From prejudice and crime,

And he'll give us all fair justice,
Let him sit there all the time!

But if, upon the other hand,
He won't, although he can,

Then cut him out with the golden rule:

"That mind's the standard of the Man."

How can you, then, a prisoner make,
When his Mind's as free as space?

You may chain his feet, and hands, and neck,
And tightly bind his face,

Do what you please, and as you please,
You cannot help but see—

That man is man, where e'er he be,
Because his mind is free!

His mind may roam back to his home,
You cannot tie it down,

And folk may look, and scoff, and scowl,
And always wear a frown.

But when of him they a prisoner make,
The mind they never can,

'Cause God ordained the Golden Rule,

"That mind's the standard of the Man."