From the Rock Island Argus, August 15, 1913. By Henry Howland.
Those rascals thrive while honest men must toil for slender gains,
Though brass may take the fair rewards that should be won by brains,
Though judges chosen to apply and to defend the laws
Exert their cunning in the task of finding little flaws,
Keep on, oh ye that honestly pursue the upward way,
Wrong never yet has managed to escape its judgment day.
Belshazzar’s palace lies in dust and Carthage is no more,
The aristocracy of France repaid in full with gore;
A Stuart’s head fell from the block, no Stuart wears a crown;
The walls that Infamy erect are sure to crumble down.
They may sometimes loom very high, their outlines may be grand,
But always underneath them there is only shifting sand.
Though rascals, laughing at the law, walk out through prison gates,
Though Justice is led far astray by cunning advocates,
Though judges serve the rascal’s ends and scorn the public’s right,
Though foul Corruption’s slimy trails are everywhere in sight,
The wrongs will have their ending in the old, old-fashioned way;
Keep on, hope on, oh ye that serve to haste the judgment day.
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