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The Christian Juggernaut
"an Englishman"
Published in the 1871 Verses for the people, suitable to the times


Christ is the Lord ! In East and West,
By Christians all 'tis loud confest.
Christ is the Lord ! In North and South,
Join priest and people with one mouth.
And His prayer they teach — and say it well —
Even the jail-bird in his cell :
" Our Father, Thou which art in heaven"
With other such of that same leaven.
But if our Father, then are we brothers,
And as ourselves should love all others I


To strange lands, too, we bodesmen send,
From gods obscene their souls to wend,
From idols horrid, from fetish foul,
From shaven bonze, from dervish-howl,
From prayer-mills mad, awhirl all day,
From Hindoo filth, and Brahmin lay,
From Juggernaut's blood-clotted wheels
As o'er stretch'd devotees he reels
Crashing and crushing men and mice
Thus bent on gaining Paradise.


We hypocrites! we well descry
The mote within our brother's eye,
But of the beam our own within
No Hre-tongu'd Baptist warns his kin ;
No Jonah bids the folk amend,
Their hearts and not their garments rend ;
No high-priest, hoar with years and fame,
Dares Christian infamy proclaim ;
No lay enthusiast, fresh from truth,
To battle 'gainst humbug calls age and youth.'


Yet gods ! we've fell — from Caste to MAMMON-
But neatly shrouded in Christian gammon,
That airy, lambent, pretty gauze
Drap'd with such grace round any cause.
Our whited sepulchres — they stand
Many and lustrous in the land,
And fetish foul and bonze have we,
And howling dervish, as all may see,
With Hindoo filth and Brahmin lay,
And child- death " in the usual way."


But chiefest, brightest of our gems,
Costlier than all " Jerusalems,"
Is our Christian Juggernaut,
Rolling tower with murders fraught,
Built by kings with cunning skill,
Not tens but millions of men to kill.
Holy bishops — how they've bless'd it !
Holy women — how they've caress'd it !
Look ! craft, and curse, and perjury,
And blood and iron its timbers be !


Forth it welters. We hear it now !
Crosses hang adown its brow.
From its walls great cannons roar,
While ironclads help by every shore.
Mangled limbs, and tears, and shrieks
Deck its path as on it creaks, —
Sweetest music, fairest sight,
Filling "Christians with delight.
And the base crowds, near and far,
Willing drag the demon car.


Nations of slaves indeed are they,
Themselves the monster fill and pa}',
Themselves its victims too. But then
'Tis so "grand" to ruin feUow-men.
The " churches" them to " obedience" awe,
And name it "loyalty" and "law."
So — to steal province, harbour, crown —
They gladly mock God's unseen frown,
Forgetful that His silent star
Curbs worlds, and emperor, and czar.


Hence, while we slept, have Mongol bands
Filch'd Persian, China, Indian lands,
Finland and many a canton more
Bound the cold Baltic's once free shore.
Circassia drench'd in gore, or driven
To plains by "infidel" Mussulman given,
Poland, half massacred, with might
"Levied" 'gainst sister states to fight,
Whilst trembles Turkey, and awaits
The "pious" cut-throat at her gates.


Hence — while we slept — the Cossack-Prussian
More barbarous even than the Russian,
From small and modest robber's nest
Rose to be "great," of shires possess'd,
Once own'd by Saxon, Pole, German, Swede,
Wend, Dane — sold by England in his need,—
And now, sharp dagger in her side,
Grasps hard at French fields far and wide,
Till, whetted by flesh, and gold, and spoil,
For further prey he spreads his toil.


" And is help none ?" the coward cries,
As wrapp'd in " Christian" ease he lies ;
"Must I", too, bow my haughty neck,
At Mongol or at Cossack beck ?
Must I, too, give my children tall,
My honour, freedom, industry, all,
This fiend-fierce Juggernaut to feed,
While bankrupt states in anguish bleed,
While 'Christian' right means 'heathen' wrong
And ' civilization' is a song ?"


Friend, help is none — until thou strike !
For like is only cur'd by like.
Soft sawder ne'er held bandit back,
But chains, revolvers, hangman's knack.
King-butchers laugh at "but" and "hem,"
Nor God nor devil frightens them.
Iron and blood's the only potion
Can teach them any "Christian" notion.
Bullets and bayonets only can
Lords of arm'd millions break and ban.


Give but to one state Landstorm strong,
Its steel-clad folk an endless throng,
Rich, poor, prince, beggar, side by side,
Their common country's hope and pride,
With guns and discipline most dread,
And tried commanders at their head;
Who shall that train'd machine withstand ?
Within a month, a year, the hand
Moving that mass quick, slow, fast, faster,
Of all our Europe is the master.


Choose, then ! Let Juggernaut be God,
Or smash at once his gory rod !
Fling back his flames, his shells, his balls,
Free the poor nations he enthralls,
Or share their fate, thy glory dead,
Thy tree ancestral withered.
We cannot cheat the Lord of Life ;
Choose betwixt Baal-rest and strife.
If slave-rest — follow thy tyrant grim ;
If Christ be God, then fight for Him !


How long we not for Christian peace !
How bid we daily "let wars cease!"
The Prince of Peace the poor folks kiss,
Begging with tears this heavenly bliss —
Peace in heart, home, street and state,
Gift of the Merciful Uncreate!
But heart-peace gaineth fight 'gainst sin,
Home-peace smites self with clamorous din,
Street-peace is kept by watchmen, guards,
Detectives, soldiers, fines, rewards.


State-peace, too, is won by fighting,
Else cruellest anarchy all things blighting,
Else strongest, wickedest devil-king,
The red blood quaffing of all Europe's ring.
"Per aspera ad astra!" then ;
Thro' thorns to roses, Countrymen !
No hour unus'd let fly away,
Rise, arm, exercise, pray and pay !
Fight for Peace, for Freedom, Love,
For Country here, for God above !



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