Upton Sinclair, ed. (1878–1968).
The Cry for Justice: An Anthology of the Literature of Social Protest. 1915. | | | | The Ballad of Kiplingson |
By Robert Buchanan |
(An English poet and journalist, 1841–1901, who through his lifetime fought valiantly against militarism and imperialism) |
| | | THERE came a knock at the Heavenly Gate, where the good St. Peter sat,— | |
| “Hi, open the door, you fellah there, to a British rat-tat-tat!” | |
| |
| The Saint sat up in his chair, rubbed eyes, and prick’d his holy ears, | |
| “Who’s there?” he muttered, “a single man, or a regiment of Grenadiers?” | |
| |
| “A single man,” the voice replied, “but one of prodigious size, | 5 |
| Who claims by Jingo, his patron Saint, the entry to Paradise!” | |
| |
| The good St. Peter open’d the Gate, but blocking the entry scan’d | |
| The spectacled ghost of a little man, with an infant’s flag in his hand.… | |
| |
| “Wot! haven’t you heard of Kiplingson? whose name and fame have spread | |
| As far as the Flag of England waves, and the Tory prints are read? | 10 |
| |
| “I was raised in the lap of Jingo, sir, till I grew to the height of man, | |
| And a wonderful Literary Gent, I emerged upon Hindostan!… | |
| |
| “And rapid as light my glory spread, till thro’ cockaigne it flew, | |
| And I grew the joy of the Cockney cliques, and the pet of the Jingo Jew! | |
| |
| “For the Lord my God was a Cockney Gawd, whose voice was a savage yell, | 15 |
| A fust-rate Gawd who dropt, d’ye see, the ‘h’ in Heaven and Hell!… | |
| |
| “Oh I was a real Phenomenon,” continued Kiplingson, | |
| “The only genius ever born who was Tory at twenty-one!” | |
| |
| “Alas! and alas!” the good Saint said, a tear in his eye serene, | |
| “A Tory at twenty-one! Good God! At fifty what would you have been? | 20 |
| |
| “There’s not a spirit now here in Heaven who wouldn’t at twenty-one | |
| Have tried to upset the very Throne, and reform both Sire and Son! | |
| |
| “The saddest sight my eyes have seen, down yonder on earth or here, | |
| Is a brat that talks like a weary man, or a youth with a cynic’s leer. | |
| |
| “Try lower down, young man,” he cried, and began to close the Gate— | 25 |
| “Hi, here, old fellah,” said Kiplingson, “by Jingo! just you wait— | |
| |
| “I’ve heaps of Criticisms here, to show my claims are true, | |
| That I’m ’cute in almost everything, and have probed Creation through!” | |
| |
| “And what have you found?” the Saint inquired, a frown on his face benign— | |
| “The Flag of England!” cried Kiplingson, “and the thin black penny-a-line! | 30 |
| |
| “Wherever the Flag of England waves, down go all other flags; | |
| Wherever the thin black line is spread, the Bulldog bites and brags!… | |
| |
| “O Gawd, beware of the Jingo’s wrath! the Journals of Earth are mine! | |
| Across the plains of the earth still creeps the thin black penny-a-line! | |
| |
| “For wherever the Flag of England waves”—but here, we grieve to state, | 35 |
| His voice was drown’d in a thunder-crash, for the Saint bang’d-to the Gate! | | | | |
|
|
