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.
