On her back with langurous limbs

She lies. The baby upon her breast

Paddles and falls and swims.

With half-closed eyes she smiles,

Guarding it with her hands;

And the sob swells up in my heart -

In my heart that understands.

Dear, in the English country,

The hatefullest land on earth,

The mothers are starved and the children die

And death is better than birth!

Your gentleman God.

We want the carpenter's son,

With his saw and hod.

We want the man who loved

The poor and the oppressed

Who hated the Rich man and King

And the Scribe and the Priest.

We want the Galilean

Who knew cross and rod.

It's your "good taste" that prefers

A bastard "God!"