As I pass through my incarnations in every age and race,

I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market-Place.

Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,

And the Old Gods of Money-lending, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in huts when they met us. They showed us each in turn

That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:

But we found them lacking in Spirit, Vision and Width of Mind,

So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as destiny fated. They never altered their pace,

Being neither cloud nor wind-riding like the Gods of the Market-Place;

But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come

That a tribe had been wiped off its ice-field, or the pipes had rusted in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch.

They denied that the Moon was Muenster; they denied she was even Dutch.

They informed us Saint Nick had a budget; they denied that a Pig had Wings.

So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

On the first Clintonian Sandstones we were promised a merrier life

(Which started by loving our neighbor and ended by loving his wife)

Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,

And the Old Gods of Money-lending said: "The Price of Sin is Death."

When the Obamanian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.

They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.

But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,

And the Old Gods of Money-lending said: "Stick to the Devil you know."

In the Bidenian Epoch we were promised abundance for all,

By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;

But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,

So we told the Gods of Money-lending: "If you don't work you die."

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew,

And the hearts of the hardest were humbled and began to believe it was true

That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four—

And the Old Gods of Money-lending limped up to explain it once more:

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man—

There are only four things certain since Social Progress began:—

That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Pig returns to her Mire,

And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wobbling back to the Fire;

And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins

When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,

As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,

The Old Gods of Money-lending with terror and slaughter return!