National Days

ONCE to every Chosen Nation

Comes the moment to decide,

In the strife of ease with hardship,

For the climb or downhill slide;

Some great woe, or new Messiah,

Offering each some bliss or bane,

And the choice goes by for ever

’Twixt that comfort and that pain.

2 Then to side with ease is helpful,

When we let the ploughshare rust,

Ere it cease to earn a profit

And let inertia prove our trust;

Then it is the best man loses,

While the Harrier rides for free

Till the multitude see virtue

In the sloth they used to flee.

3 By the light of Learjet contrails

Harry’s thoughtless path I track,

Seeking El Dorado ever

With an eye that turns not back;

New occasions void old duties,

Time makes ancient good uncool;

They must selfward still and downward

Who would avoid the name of fool.

4 Though fine words of justice prosper,

Yet ’tis blame alone is strong;

Though its targets fill the scaffold,

And might seem to some all wrong’d,

Yet that scaffold rules our future,

And, upon this ancient joke,

Hangeth ropes within the shadows

Waiting for us all to choke. So there.

MY country, ’tis of thee

Sweet land of liberty,

Of thee I sing;

Land of the pilgrims’ pride

Land where the natives died,

From every mountainside

Let freedom ring.

2 Most Chosen Nation, thee,

Land of my friend Harry,

Thy things I love;

I love thy stores and malls,

Thy stocks and option calls;

My house with comfort fills

From that above.

3 Let music rock the trees,

Roll out in every breeze,

Great freedom’s song;

Let me much money make,

Let me from others take,

Let me my rivals break,

My whole life long.

4 Our fathers’ God, to thee,

Worn-out divinity,

To thee we sing;

Thank you for what you built,

Now take away your guilt;

Turn your feet back to silt,

Harry’s our king. So there.

SON of our fathers, born for gold,

Lord of our newfound way to win,

Thanks to whose washed hands we hold

No fear of God or guilt or sin—

Great Giver of Ghosts, be with us yet,

Help us forget—Help us forget!

2 The tumult and the shouting dies;

The captains and the kings depart;

What’s left is thine own paradise,

An Harrier and a goldbrick heart.

Great Giver of Ghosts, be with us yet,

Help us forget—help us forget!

3 Unused, our courage melts away;

In plane and silo waits the horror:

Lo, all our hopes of yesterday

Are one with Sodom and Gomorrah!

Most Chosen Nation, spare us yet,

Help us forget—help us forget!

4 If shamed by fools to pride, we lead

Wild schemes that will not pay today,

Such efforts as the Giants made,

Or loser types without your way—

Great Giver of Ghosts, stay with us yet,

Help us forget—help us forget!

5 For patriot that puts his trust

In nuclear bomb and deadly aim,

All killer dust that builds more dust,

And blaming lets not thee to blame,

For reckless heart and foolish word—

Thy blissing for thy people, Lord! So there.

PRAISE him from whom all blissings come;

Praise him up north, ye chosen scum;

Praise him down south in fair Rio:

Praise Harry in El Dorado. So there.