Classic Poem

Down from the Seven Hills of Rome
Came brutes in human form,
They left their curséd, sinful home
Our Motherland to storm:
Yes, led by Mussolini's own son,
They passed the Old Canal,
And when their war was just begun
They fought like cannibal.

The Rome of sin and human hate
Has plagued the world before,
But God will serve their awful fate
On Ethiopia's shore.
Their guns and gas may threaten all
As hymns they sing at home.
But ere Adowa's final fall
The fight shall pass from Rome.

The God Who is above nation
Shall speak with thunder loud;
He shall redeem His creation,
And pass from out the cloud.
The people pray to Him on High
To save the black man's land,
And so His Word shall never die
For he will be at hand.

Let Rome then purge herself of sin,
And stop the sacrilege,
For Mussolini ne'er shall win
The black man's heritage.
The curse of all the world is pride,
That venal Rome assume,
With Mussolini, as beside
D'Annunzio at Fiume.