Advent of Empire The Gun is God The God of the world of the haughty moderns. The holy Christ of atoned earths saints, Is the ardent gun that belehes killing, Exploding shell in a thousand brains. Love is cold as the glacial ice Of the ages that polished the anchored rocks; Heart is dead as the plague-marred corpse. Or mummy parched at the source of Time. Hate is Lord of the white mans virtues, Death the sceptre and crown thereof; Beg for life, ye weak, and listen: Swish of sword is Law of Love.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)
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