Here chalices are hammered into swords And helmets Christ’s blood sold in pints and quarts His cross and thorns turned into spears and shields Yet still Christ’s gentle patience falls on us! Oh let Him not come down again on earth His precious blood would stream among the stars To see in Rome His flayed skin merchandised And the way barred to everything that’s good If I should ever hanker after riches Now that my work here can no longer flower The Coped One wields Medusa’s deadly power And although heaven welcomes poverty Just how can we restore our blessed state If we abide under an alien flag?