Thou that hast touched the mystic wounds of God,
And strewn with broken hearts the Virgin's feet,
Feeling beneath the burden and the rod
His justice and Her pity in the street.
And strewn with broken hearts the Virgin's feet,
Feeling beneath the burden and the rod
His justice and Her pity in the street.
Justice and Pity, crying in the wind—
We only hear the guns that never cease,
The flapping of our flags has made us blind!
We may not see the sacred gods of peace.
We only hear the guns that never cease,
The flapping of our flags has made us blind!
We may not see the sacred gods of peace.
But thou dost build fanatic temples for them,
And thou dost pave the road with sanity,
And all the train of bitter ghosts adore them,
Who died to puff a monarch's vanity.
And thou dost pave the road with sanity,
And all the train of bitter ghosts adore them,
Who died to puff a monarch's vanity.
I hear thy orchestras of holy cheers,
The drum that life has snatched away from death,
And all the sighing rhythm of thy tears,
And the brave laughter of thy trumpet-breath.
The drum that life has snatched away from death,
And all the sighing rhythm of thy tears,
And the brave laughter of thy trumpet-breath.
Peace! But a cynic whispered in my ear
How kings like worms still wrangled for a crown
That lay amid the dust—and I could hear
A hum of money-changing in the town.
How kings like worms still wrangled for a crown
That lay amid the dust—and I could hear
A hum of money-changing in the town.
I feared that afterwards, when all is won,
We shall forget the meaning of thy deed—
And man will creep as he has always done
Along the little gutters of his greed.
We shall forget the meaning of thy deed—
And man will creep as he has always done
Along the little gutters of his greed.
1917
66
