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But there have been many preachers on both sides who have praised their own nation to the skies with Pharisaic self-righteousness, and have seen the enemy only with the distorted eyes of prejudice and hate. It will not be necessary to quote here the notorious "Hymn of Hate," by Ernst Lissauer, which was distributed by the Crown Prince of Bavaria to his army.
I soon felt that if Lissauer is the Horace of Hate, Sombart is its Demosthenes. Asquith and Mr. Lloyd George. No, we must go far beyond that. We must hate the very essence of everything English. We must hate the very soul of England. An abysmal gulf yawns between the two nations which can never, and must never, be bridged over.
"Words in Season," Poems, including the "Hymn of Hate," by Ernst Lissauer. About sixty-five other titles might be added to those given above, but the author has restricted the list to books in his possession. Some of them are scurrilous and obscene, deserving no further attention than a record of their existence.
But the English-speaking race has also command of the biggest letter in the alphabet, and can say damn with a force surpassing expression in any other language. The most popular song to-day in Germany is the "Hymn of Hate," by Ernest Lissauer, whom, it is reported, the Kaiser has decorated for this the only real German literature from the war.
"I want to feel his bumps," said Mr. Britling after a pause. "It's incomprehensible." "They're singing that up and down Germany. Lissauer, I hear, has been decorated...." "It's stark malignity," said Mr. Britling. "What have we done?" "It's colossal. What is to happen to the world if these people prevail?" "I can't believe it even with this evidence before me.... No!
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