There Is No Sin Greater

There Rise Her Timeless Capitals Of Empires Daily Born, Whose Plinths Are Laid At Midnight And Whose Streets Are Packed At Morn; And Here Come Tired Youths And Maids That Feign To Love Or Sin In Tones Like Rusty Razor Blades To Tunes Like Smitten Tin.

Take Up The White Man's Burden -- Send Forth The Best Ye Breed -- Go, Bind Your Sons To Exile To Serve Your Captives Need.

No Doubt But Ye Are The People - Absolute, Strong And Wise; Whatever Your Hear Has Desired Ye Have Not Withheld From Your Eyes. On Your Own Heads, In Your Own Hands, The Sin And The Saving Lies!

The American Has No Language, He Has A Dialect, Slang, Provincialism, Accent And So Forth

Heaven Grant Us Patience With A Man In Love.