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Pilate and Herod, friends!
Chief priests and rulers, as of old, combine!
Just God and holy! is that church which lends
Strength to the spoiler, Thine?
Paid hypocrites, who turn
Judgment aside, and rob the Holy Book
Of those high words of truth which search and burn
In warning and rebuke.
Feed fat, ye locusts, feed!
And, in your tasselled pulpits, thank the Lord
That, from the toiling bondsman's utter need,
Ye pile your own full board.
How long, oh Lord! how long
Shall such a Priesthood barter Truth away,
And, in Thy name, for robbery and wrong
At thy own altars pray?
Is not Thy hand stretched forth
Visibly in the heavens to awe and smite?
Shall not the living God of all the earth,
And heaven above, do right?
Woe, then, to all who grind
Their brethren of a Common Father down!
To all who plunder from th' immortal mind
Its bright and glorious crown!
Woe to the Priesthood! woe
To those whose hire is with the price of blood—
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