Please re-post with stanzas.
I see some of your modifications but the run-on paragraph is painful.
Thanks.
Here is my modern adaptation of the famous poem. Just a few words changed:
As I pass through my invocations with every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Marxist Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the God of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlasts them all.
We were living in trees when he met us. He showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found him lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left him to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.
We moved as the Spirit listed. He never altered his pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Marxist Place,
But he always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its ricefield, or the lights had gone out in Phnom.
With the Hopes that our World is built on He was utterly out of touch,
He denied that the Moon was Stilton; He denied she was even Dutch;
He denied that Wishes were Horses; He denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Marxists 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 God 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 God 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 God of the Copybook Headings said: “If you don't work you die.”
Then the Gods of the Marxists 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 God of the Copybook Headings rose 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 God of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter returns!