Here you will find the Poem A Toast of poet Lola Ridge
Not your martyrs anointed of heaven - The ages are red where they trod - But the Hunted - the world's bitter leaven - Who smote at your imbecile God - A being to pander and fawn to, To propitiate, flatter and dread As a thing that your souls are in pawn to, A Dealer who traffics the dead; A Trader with greed never sated, Who barters the souls in his snares, That were trapped in the lusts he created, For incense and masses and prayers - They are crushed in the coils of your halters; 'Twere well - by the creeds ye have nursed - That ye send up a cry from your altars, A mass for the Martyrs Accursed; A passionate prayer from reprieval For the Brotherhood not understood - For the Heroes who died for the evil, Believing the evil was good. To the Breakers, the Bold, the Despoilers, Who dreamed of a world over-thrown? They who died for the millions of toilers - Few - fronting the nations alone! - To the Outlawed of men and the Branded, Whether hated or hating they fell - I pledge the devoted, red-handed, Unfaltering Heroes of Hell!
