Wild Europe

LD Europe, red with Woden's dreadful dew,

On fire with Loki's hate, more savage

Beasts that we shame by likening to man,

Was it toward this the toiling centuries grew?

Was it for this the Reign of Love

In that young heretic, that gracious Jew,

Whose race His followers flout the ages through?

Is Time at last a mere comedian,

Mocking in cap and bells our pompous

Of progress?

Nay, we will not bear it so.

A million hands launch ships to succor woe;

The stars that shudder o'er the slaughtering

Rain blessing on the Red Cross groups that

Careless of shrapnel, emulous for the

Where foul diseases wreak their

Of horror.

Saintship walks

As scoffing Science, but Christ knows His,

Sway as it may, the wargod's fell caprice,

The victories of Love shall still

Until at last, from all this wail and moan,

Rises the song of brotherhood to

No more, no more, —the song that shall

Even for this mad agony.

The

That war is building is the throne of Peace.