Run-Through Chorus (IV).

Lo, the Spartan strength has vanished, and men think that they have banished
From their minds the spell of priestly rite;
So they burst the chains that bind them, leave their slaving days behind them,
And the scales fall straightway from their eyes!
They have tipped their altars over and made every man a rover
And a pirate on the Roman Main!
Lo, they set a puking babe on a course of Jos. McCabe—
And man is their God once again.
Though the monks are done, and have said their say,
Still our eyes are closed to the coming "Day."

But since men unaided falter, soon they raise anew the altar—
And the Dollar is the object they revere!
Lo, the modern Hur and Aaron, with the covetousest glare on,
Supporting on each hand the Prophet-eer!
From the Plute that hoards the wheat to the loafer on the street.
It's the Dollar that has got 'em in its hold:
Tisn't Moses, but it's Ike, the prophet that they like,
And the serpent isn't copper, but it's gold.
Still the days run on and the Dollars away,
And our eyes are closed to the coming "Day."