Oh people bespitten and rifled
Of the fruits that were gone by toil
Have revenge upon those who have trifled
With you, come down to your spoil
Ye are firm in your faith that we scoff at
Ye are strong in your hope that we scorn
While our angels are cast into Tophet
Our creed is outworn
Ye have conquered the night of your longing,
Ye have conquered and shown yourself brave,
Ye have risen in multitudes thronging
When we though you pressed down to the grave.
The hands of Christ’s people shall stab us,
Support his pale godhead who can.
O Caiaphas, Annas, Barabbas,
Behold ye the man
The hands of the lord may quicken
New creeds, but one thing shall be sure,
When the God of the Christians is stricken,
The God of the Jew shall endure.
When Christ shall be dead as Apollo,
Buried in aeons in mouldering sod,
The children of Jacob shall follow
The children of God.
The above poem was written by Chesterton in pencil on lined school book paper during his schooling at
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