Peter Me Arthur
Converging to the seaports, gathering, gathering. They take ship and speed exulting across the ocean, Shipload after shipload in endless procession, Never ceasing, day or night, they rush to your banquet
table. [trenches
They serve the great guns, launch the airships, fill the But not for the love of War ! Mark, O War God!
These thronging millions have but one purpose To destroy War ! They are battling against War ! Raging, striking, cursing, shooting, stabbing, bombing
for no other reason than to end War. Fool, Infinite, God-like Fool ! Toss your empurpled plumes and laugh ! Flash your sword until its lightnings blind the sun. Let the roar of your guns deafen the thunder. Spread your battle-smoke like night, smother the airs of
dawn with poison gas.
Rouse all your devilish enginry and make hideous war ! But you shall not escape ! You cannot lift your head so high but the flyers shall
reach you, shall pluck out your eyes. You cannot dive so deep, but the depth bombs shall find
you, strew you with the wrecks of the sea. You cannot hide in dugouts or caves but the bombers
shall blast you.
Like the stinging of bees the bayonets shall thrust at you. You shall go down, blind, ham-strung, hacked and stab bed with a million wounds, For this, O War God, is your crowning folly ! You have roused Pernogorgon, the common man, And he shall trample you under foot.
My son, the doctor s son, the lawyer s son All, all everybody s son This is their task !
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