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Title: The Orgy Of Thor
Author: Abner Cosens [
More Titles by Cosens]
The war god calls, whate'er befalls
His orders must be filled,
Though work may stop in mine and shop,
And farms may lie untilled.
At his command each human hand
Must toil to pay the price
In coal, or meat, or wool, or wheat,
Oil, cotton, corn or rice.
From pole to pole he takes control
Of land, and air, and tide,
Then death and dearth fill all the earth,
And hell's gate opens wide.
Fierce robber bands, o'er desert sands
No white man ever saw,
Bring all their spoil, with endless toil,
To fill the monster's maw.
O'er ice and snow the huskies go,
Beneath the northern star,
And gather toll, a scanty dole,
To pay the god of war.
From out the States go mighty freights
Of cotton, corn and oil;
From West to East, to feed the beast,
The people save and toil.
The West's astir, the binders whirr
Around the settler's shack;
The threshers hum, lest winter come
Before the wheat's in sack.
The bullocks strain on loaded wain,
Piled high with bales of wool,
A season's clip from shed to ship;
The cargo must be full.
The drivers swear, the bulls by pair
Plunge panting through the dust,
Like things accurst they die of thirst
The war gods say they must.
Where battle fields dread harvests yield
The war god's revels be,
Where blood runs red, he counts the dead,
And shrieks and howls in glee.
With fiendish laughs, he fiercely quaffs
The precious crimson tide;
He'll drink his fill, nor rest until
His blood lust's satisfied.
[The end]
Abner Cosens's poem: Orgy Of Thor
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