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 Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
We were living in trees when they met us. They taught us each in turn
That water would certainly wet us, as fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in uplift, vision and breadth of mind,
So we left them to teach the gorillas as we followed the march of mankind.
We moved as the spirit lifted. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne 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 icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the hopes that our world was built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the moon was Stilton, they denied that she even was Dutch;
They denied that wishes were horses; they denied that pigs had wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market, who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian 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 Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the devil you know."
On the first feminian sandstones we were promised the Fuller 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 Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The wages of sin is death."
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all
By robbing selective Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "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 meanest were humbled, and began to believe it was true
That all is not gold that glitters, and two and two make four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, so 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 sow returns to her mire
And the burnt fool's bandaged finger goes wobbling back to the fire;
And after all 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, and as surely as fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers, I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
We were living in trees when they met us. They taught us each in turn
That water would certainly wet us, as fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in uplift, vision and breadth of mind,
So we left them to teach the gorillas as we followed the march of mankind.
We moved as the spirit lifted. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne 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 icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the hopes that our world was built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the moon was Stilton, they denied that she even was Dutch;
They denied that wishes were horses; they denied that pigs had wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market, who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian 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 Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the devil you know."
On the first feminian sandstones we were promised the Fuller 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 Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The wages of sin is death."
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all
By robbing selective Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "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 meanest were humbled, and began to believe it was true
That all is not gold that glitters, and two and two make four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, so 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 sow returns to her mire
And the burnt fool's bandaged finger goes wobbling back to the fire;
And after all 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, and as surely as fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!
That gives me chills every time. Several other things already mentioned here also give me chills, like the ones from Lord of the Rings.
