Utopia of Usurers

G.K. Chesterton
Utopia of Usurers

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Chesterton #14 in our series by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Title: Utopia of Usurers and other Essays
Author: G. K. Chesterton
Release Date: April, 2000 [EBook #2134] [This file was last updated
on February 22, 2003]
Edition: 11

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Utopia of Usurers and other Essays
by Gilbert Keith Chesterton

A Song of Swords
Utopia of Usurers I. Art and Advertisement II. Letters and the New
Laureates III. Unbusinesslike Business IV. The War on Holidays V.
The Church of the Servile State VI. Science and the Eugenists VII. The
Evolution of the Prison VIII. The Lash for Labour IX. The Mask of
The Escape The New Raid The New Name A Workman's History of
England The French Revolution and the Irish Liberalism: A Sample
The Fatigue of Fleet Street The Amnesty for Aggression Revive the
Court Jester The Art of Missing the Point The Servile State Again The
Empire of the Ignorant The Symbolism of Krupp The Tower of Bebel
A Real Dancer The Dregs of Puritanism The Tyranny of Bad
Journalism The Poetry of the Revolution


"A drove of cattle came into a village called Swords; and was stopped
by the rioters."--Daily Paper.
In the place called Swords on the Irish road It is told for a new renown
How we held the horns of the cattle, and how We will hold the horns of
the devils now Ere the lord of hell with the horn on his brow Is
crowned in Dublin town.
Light in the East and light in the West, And light on the cruel lords, On
the souls that suddenly all men knew, And the green flag flew and the
red flag flew, And many a wheel of the world stopped, too, When the
cattle were stopped at Swords.
Be they sinners or less than saints That smite in the street for rage, We
know where the shame shines bright; we know You that they smite at,
you their foe, Lords of the lawless wage and low, This is your lawful
You pinched a child to a torture price That you dared not name in
words; So black a jest was the silver bit That your own speech shook
for the shame of it, And the coward was plain as a cow they hit When
the cattle have strayed at Swords.
The wheel of the torrent of wives went round To break men's
brotherhood; You gave the good Irish blood to grease The clubs of your
country's enemies; you saw the brave man beat to the knees: And you
saw that it was good.
The rope of the rich is long and long-- The longest of hangmen's cords;
But the kings and crowds are holding their breath, In a giant shadow
o'er all beneath Where God stands holding the scales of Death Between
the cattle and Swords.
Haply the lords that hire and lend The lowest of all men's lords, Who
sell their kind like kine at a fair, Will find no head of their cattle there;
But faces of men where cattle were: Faces of men--and Swords.

I. Art and Advertisement
I propose, subject to the patience of the reader, to devote two or three
articles to prophecy. Like all healthy-minded prophets, sacred and
profane, I can only prophesy when I am in a rage and think things look
ugly for everybody. And like all healthy-minded prophets, I prophesy
in the hope that my prophecy may not come true. For the prediction
made by the true soothsayer is like the warning given by a good doctor.
And the doctor has really triumphed when the patient he condemned to
death has revived to life. The
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