English poem
The World'S Overdraft
by Abner Cosens
May, 1917
On life's broad fields, whate'er we sow, 'Tis certain we shall reap; The watching scribes, above, below, Somewhere a record keep. The faithless church, the lying creed Teaching that wrong is right, The childless home, the heartless greed, The jealousy and spite.
The feasting, selfish, idle rich, The hungry, hardened poor, The drunkard lying in the ditch, The brothel's open door; Whate'er we do, where'er we dwell, Whate'er our names or creeds, They total up in heaven or hell, The sum of all our deeds.
We thought the race was to the swift, The battle to the strong, Like mariners with boat adrift, We heard the sirens' song, We put our trust in armies vast, In battleships and marts, We deemed but hoodoos of the past The prayers from human hearts.
So heavy grew the moral debt Of every class and rank, No further credit could we get At Satan's private bank. The wealth bestowed by sea and land We squandered in a day, The devil took our notes of hand, And now there's hell to pay.
The world will drown in blood and tears, And famine stalk abroad, 'Til men repent their sordid years And humbly call on God. This cruel war the Kaiser made, (The worst since Satan fell,) Will end when all the world has paid Its overdraft on hell.