When long-refuséd Justice returns from her sequester,
all that is tangled shall be unraveled.
When long-waywarded brothers return, defend their sister,
praise apportions to repentance traveled.
When quick plague breaks and princes wear the thorny crown,
the plans and ways of men will scatter.
When quick earth shakes and golden angels cast horns down,
the idols’ shrines and temples shatter.
In the score of scores we all are poor; our debts span generations fore.
We need a jubilee of jubilees — to set the captives free.
Oh Xanadu, oh Xanadu, your palace lies in shambles.
Where are the roving shepherds who across your fields would ramble?
They are locked at home, they wail and groan, and you powerless to handle.
Oh Babylon, oh Babylon, your garden’s overgrown.
Where are your million gardeners by whom your lawns were mown?
They cower in fear for the god you revere demands they be alone.
Oh dynasties, oh empires vast, oh kingdoms far and near,
Where are your gods capricious whose judgements are severe?
They pay plague for health, ruin for wealth, demonic and austere.
The score of scores forgiven to ten thousand bags of gold,
Is this a jubilee of jubilees? We watch it now unfold.
Will birds return,
Will tides revise?
Will streams be clean?
Will clouds of smog
Will the score of scores be settled?
Will the bonds of debt be severed?
Will this be a jubilee of jubilees?
Will we find freedom in our captivity?