From Mid-American Chants...
Bring hither the beams of the corncribs, my children. The dung
heaps are burned. Strong hands have gripped the rope whereby
the horses were tied. The fish nets of the Northwest and the
sheep gates of Michigan are opened to me.
I have put my neck and my hands to the work, O my children. How
black your eyes have become. They gleam in the darkness. The
souls of Ulysses and of Abraham have been opened to me. By the
coal heaps near the factory door my men are assembled.
Tipping the water-gates of the rivers the night riders assemble.
In the cities the grey little foxes lie low. By the howling of
dogs in the silence the decay of men is proclaimed.
Long nights we were weeping the prelude, my brothers. The madness
and washing of hands has been done. The sweetness of apples--the
fatness of cornfields--the whoring of men for strange gods is begun.