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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 37 pages of information about Rhymes of a Roughneck.

The dream of the white man ever goes out
  To the fight that can never be won,
And ever he plans to do the things
  That they say can never be done.

It’s seldom he values the things that are,
  What he craves he never may gain,
But ever he tries, till the day he dies
  And then feels he has lived in vain.

THE NEW MASTER

As one who lays aside a task, where one has ruled alone,
I lay aside the crown of hell, and give to you my throne;
As one who feels his race is run, whose day is of the past,
I recognize your genius, and abdicate at last. 
I go and leave you master, and I feel it’s just as well,
For Hades lacks its master, until you rule in hell. 
The world wags on and changes, old methods now seem weak,
And the changes of a thousand years, of these I fain would speak.

I’ve raised and sponsored many names, that darken history’s page,
I’ve made them rulers of the world in many a by-gone age. 
They all have shown a human turn, from Nero down to you,
But now my life-long dream of a super fiend at last seems coming true. 
I’ve watched you since the faintest spark blazed in your mother’s womb,
I’ve watched your hypocritic grief, beside your father’s tomb;
I know the tainted blood that flows thru your each and every vein
That shows up in your withered arm, and feeds your fevered brain.

I saw it in your grandsire, where first it cropped out plain
When German gold was squandered to slay the honest Dane. 
I fed you dreams of empire, and dreams of lust and greed
And the age old lust of conquest that taints all of your breed. 
The strain that showed in Nero, cropped out alike in you,
You killed your gentle mother, but not as Nero slew. 
I gave you hate of Albion, for all the world will tell
That could I kill that Anglo strain, I’d use the earth for hell.

I loathe the Anglo-Saxon race, I hate their English speech,
For where the Union Jack waves high, the Cross will ever reach. 
Their ignorant millions till the soil, for they protect their own,
I hate it for I’ve never had this ensign for mine own. 
I taught you how to use God’s church, I built the path you trod,
I filled your mouth until you claimed, a pardnership with God. 
I told you tales to tell to men, I coached you every hour
Until an egomaniac ran wild, mad with a lust for power.

I made an army for you then, the peer of all war lords,
I smiled the night you went away to visit Norway fiords. 
I knew your Bagdad railway schemes, I knew the Austrian claims,
I knew that German gold would guide the mad assassin’s aims. 
I knew the schemes that you had planned, the one that nothing curbs,
I envied your diplomacy that blamed it on the Serbs. 
My brain ne’er hatched a finer scheme, your armies marking time
And then the rape of Belgium, your premier man-sized crime.

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