Lord, how wonderful is the power of man; how great his             knowledge! We have triumphed over the earth, the sea, the air and the ether. We have made habitable the poisonous wastes of the world and             built cities thereon, changed the courses of rivers and             caused deserts to bloom. We have explored the hidden lanes under the sea. We have discovered the chemistry of the soil, and can toughen             the hardihood of seeds to prevail over climates. We have extracted gold even from dross-heaps, Our aeroplanes over mountains are as beautiful as eagles that             bear the Dawn upon their backs. Our whispers, disdaining the carriage of wires, are heard across             continents with the instancy of light and are as             immediately answered. Our greetings and warnings are exchanged before the smiles and             frowns have left the faces of our statesmen. We have weighed suns and stars, made finite thine unbounded             Universe, divided the Invisible and watched the race             of solar chariots in an atom. We have invaded the lair of the thunder and placed our jockeys             upon tides and cataracts. By taking thought, we have added cubits unto our stature. We can tell the signs of the seasons; and as for the winds, we             know whence they come and whither they go, for             we have pencil-traced the assemblage of storms             thousands of miles off. How wonderful is the power of man; how great his knowledge!

*****

Lord, we praise thee for our Statutes, for our Reform Bills, for             our Proclamations; for the march of Progress, for             Our Days of Rest, for the shortening of the Hours of             Labour. We no longer harness children to the carts in the black routes             under the earth, nor whip them at the cotton mills as             we did when their advocates were scarce at thy High             Courts of Love. For thou didst soften the hearts of thy legislators when they             decreed that no child under ten should work more             than twelve hours a day in the damp and the dark. And thou didst further soften their hearts when, in their own             time, their own good time, they lifted the lower             limits of the years and reduced the sunless hours,             until the child, the woman and the slave were made             free by the Act of the Nation.

*****

The curse of labour is past. We have thrown the packs from our shoulders, wiped the sweat             from our brows, yet multiplied the work which is             not of our hands. Times were known when the labourers were heard to sing at             their toil, when the spinning-wheel, the reaping-hook             and the plough fitted into the measures of the             verse, but the songs have died on our lips and the             tunes are now sung by the motors and the dynamos.

And the music is stern and defiant and absolute, for the machine,             in the pride of its precision, answers the hungry             discords outside of the doors and windows:

Keep out of the shops and our mills, With your unpredictable wills, And your clumsy fingers and thumbs; Out of the cloth we make Out of the bread we bake We fling you the rags and the crumbs. Keep out—for you will never achieve The pattern perfection of weave In the exquisite strength of our steel. Stay out—for you cannot restrain Fatigue of heart and of brain And the wayward blood you conceal.

And the song of the machine is answered by the call of the             saboteur:

                        Burn, burn, burn,                         Cotton and coffee and wheat,                         For the wheels must cease to turn                         When there's too much food to eat,                         And the factory doors must shut                         On the looms with their market glut.

And both songs merge in the rugged antiphonal of the             individualists:

                        Wait, wait, wait,                         Till the cycle rings the chime,                         When Supply begins to abate,                         And Demand is on the climb;

                        Then brain and iron and brawn,                         And every man for himself,                         Will reinstate the Dawn                         Of Freedom, Power and Pelf.

Lord, we no longer torture for the faith, We no longer arrange the faggots around the knees of the             heretic, We no longer crucify.

We praise thee that the days, long gone, when, as at             Ephesus, the saints seized one another by the throats             to vindicate the Godhead, were but nursery days             when thy children scrambled up their picture-blocks             in the vain attempt to puzzle out the features of             thy face. But now having become men, we have put away childish things.             We still go as pilgrims on our perennial journeys to             the Councils, but how orderly and admirable our             conduct! We meet with the crossing of hands and             wish one another well. We sit at our common             tables, partake of burnt offerings of lambs and             bullocks, and toast the royal and presidential healths             with the blood of grapes; after which each one tells             of his desire for peace and amity with his cousins             across the boundaries, favouring the stability and             prosperity of the world. Then we go into Committees: We adjourn, but we do not             dissolve, for thou has not left thy delegates without             hope that at some future date, at Geneva or London             or maybe at Washington, we shall meet to confer             again, to enter the halls full of wisdom, and to depart             void of understanding. Meanwhile we return to our             homes, some to report progress from the platform,             some to suspend judgment, and others to sit in             sackcloth and ashes.

It is true we live by faith. For, between the sessions, the             chemist continues to brood over the gases, the             bacteriologist over the microbes, the mechanic over the             lathe, the nationalists over tariffs and trenches,             boundaries and corridors, and the war secretaries turn the             dials of the vaults upon the last design and the             newest formula.

*****

Lord! Our spirits are kindled by the flash of phrases. We are shaken by the cannonade of mottoes.             "It is sweet and becoming that one should die for his             country."             "Come home with your shield or upon it."             "Saul hath slain his thousands, but David his tens of             thousands."             "When shall their glory fade."             "The sword of the Lord and of Gideon."             "I have not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed             begging bread."             "In the multitude of counsellors there is safety." But our cenotaphs bear no testimony to those who moulder             ingloriously upon the mattress.

                        O Kali, Mother of Destruction!                         Ahriman, of Darkness and Strife!                         Loki, Spirit of Evil! What is sown of Isis shall be reaped of Hecate, and made the             bargain of Mammon, Gatherer of Spoil.

                        O Buddha, of the folded hands and silent lips!                         Confucius, Sage of the Right Way!                         Christ, Lord of Love, Lord of Life! May the dream not entirely vanish from our sleep.

Our physicians can prescribe for the ills of their own families. They can cure individual diseases, and heal the hurt of the body. But they have found no remedy for the deep malaise in the             communal heart of the world.

Our Father Who art in heaven.... Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses.