White Man's Burden.net

The Poor Man's Burden
By Howard S. Taylor - 1899

Pile up the poor man's burden--
The weight of foreign wars;
Go shrewdly yoke together
Great Mercury and Mars,

And march with them to conquest,
As once did ancient Rome,
With vigor on her borders
And slow decay at home!

Pile up the poor man's burden,
Accept Great Britain's plan;
She does all things for commerce--
Scarce anything for man.

Far off among the pagans
She seeks an open door
While Pity cries in London,
"God help the British poor!"

Pile up the poor man's burden--
His sons will hear our call,
Will feed the jungle fever
And stop the Mauser ball;

Will fall far off unnoted,
For spoils they may not share,
And spill their blood to water
A laurel here and there!

Pile up the poor man's burden;
Keep in the old, old track!
Let glory ride, as ever,
Upon the toiler's back.

Lay tax and tax upon him,
Devised with subtle skill--
Call forth his sons to slaughter
And let him pay the bill!

Pile up the poor man's burden!
The lords of trade, at least,
May drink, like King Belshazzar,
In comfort at the feast;

May boast, as did the monarch
Within his palace hall,
While God wrote out his sentence
In fire upon the wall!