As I pass through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market-Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in
      turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March
      of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market-
      Place;
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word
      would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone
      out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of
      touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even
      Dutch.
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had
      Wings.
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these
      beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised
      perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the
      tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our
      foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: ‘Stick to the Devil you
      know.’

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his
      wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and
      faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: ‘The Wages of Sin is
      Death.’

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money
      could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: ‘If you don’t work
      you die.’

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued
      wizards withdrew,
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe
      it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four —
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it
      once more.

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man —
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began —
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool’s bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the
      Fire;

And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world
      begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his
      sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter
      return!

Readings

The Gods of the Copybook Headings read by Alan Cox
The Gods of the Copybook Headings read by Roger Moore
The Gods of the Copybook Headings read by Dominic West
Select reading
The Gods of the Copybook Headings read by Alan Cox
The Gods of the Copybook Headings read by Roger Moore
The Gods of the Copybook Headings read by Dominic West
© Copyright 2025 The Josephine Hart Poetry Foundation. A charity registered in England and Wales number 1145062.