Tree, Old Tree Of The Triple Crook

Carmen Patibulare - To H. S.     Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Crook     And the rope of the Black Election,     'Tis the faith of the Fool that a race you rule     Can never achieve perfection:     So 'It's O, for the time of the new Sublime     And the better than human way,     When the Rat (poor beast) shall come to his own     And the Wolf shall have his day!'     For Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Beam     And the power of provocation,     You have cockered the Brute with your dreadful fruit     Till your fruit is mere stupration:     And 'It's how should we rise to be pure and wise,     And how can we choose but fall,     So long as the Hangman makes us dread,     And the Noose floats free for all?'     So Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Coign     And the trick there's no recalling,     They will haggle and hew till they hack you through     And at last they lay you sprawling:     When 'Hey! for the hour of the race in flower     And the long good-bye to sin!'     And for the lack the fires of Hell gone out     Of the fuel to keep them in!'     But Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Bough     And the ghastly Dreams that tend you,     Your growth began with the life of Man,     And only his death can end you.     They may tug in line at your hempen twine,     They may flourish with axe and saw;     But your taproot drinks of the Sacred Springs     In the living rock of Law.     And Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Fork,     When the spent sun reels and blunders     Down a welkin lit with the flare of the Pit     As it seethes in spate and thunders,     Stern on the glare of the tortured air     Your lines august shall gloom,     And your master-beam be the last thing whelmed     In the ruining roar of Doom.