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And leaves the trampled battle-field
With blood and carnage red,
While thousand mangled forms
In hopeless suffering bleed,
And vultures and hyenas throng
Upon their flesh to feed.
See with what bitter grief
Those widowed ones deplore;
And children for their father mourn,
Who must return no more.
And aged parents sink
In penury and despair,
And sorrow dwells in many a home,—
War makes the weeping there.
It comes with sins and woes,
A dark and endless train,
It fills the breast with murderous hate,
Where Christian love should reign;
It desolates the land
With famine, death and flame,
