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Enkomputiligis Don HARLOW |
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Cruel Christendom was born of Rome, Not Christ. A high sardonic irony Worthy of the Prince of Lies, to name The Church of Blood as for a mystic rabbi. 0 Jesus, to whom idolatry was death, Who fought the forms your own people adored, Now you are the idol we set between ourselves And the awful truth of naked God. In Rome, a land of power shorn of love, Where men studied to hate their very lives, Proclaiming death a glory sweet and fitting, The church of Jesus died in all but name. Hard it may be now to recall Before the glare of minister tycoons Exhorting us to righteous greed and war In the name of Christ the god of strife That once, awaiting the end of earthly things, The Christians were poor and pacifist, slaves And communists, the dregs of a nation Which thought that love could be bought and sold. Their half-Jewish heresy of hope, Idolatrous by Jesus' mystic standards, Was not unworthy of its new-forged god In that simple trust Jesus loved. As I watch the mighty Christian empire, Sceptred by businessmen, upheld by armies, I must weep a while for the libelled teacher, But longer for the futile hopes of slaves. |