Twentieth-Century Slave Gang

We who have seen the city's sentinel–
Some iron-colored tower, monument
To slow encroaching force–our thews are bent
Against her girders! With her noise, her knell
From this our iron tongue we toll, to tell
Torture and toil. Her children are content;
They sleep behind her spears, belligerent–
Until they start in terror....
Toll the bell:

Prepare, prepare to see your towers fall;
Foundations groan, no longer to withstand
The burdens of your abundant banquet hall.

So perished Babylon. Behold the hand
That turns your river underneath the wall
And makes your wealth an avalanche of sand!