War is a way the statesmen play, Getting gain from a world in pain; Perhaps they will say on some future day "Let us try this game again!" Patriot wags with the same old gags Will exhort to enlist once more, Hand us guns and drums with their battle-flags For the sport of that field of gore, Where rockets flare and field-guns blare Their tidings of terrible doom, Where the chlorined air deals death everywhere Till earth is one ghastly tomb. A hard hill's crest, a machine-gun nest— There the bayonets will do their worst! But God I've confessed I will do my best That the foe will kill me first! I'd rather die like a pig in a stye With a bullet through my head, Than hear that cry where the red heaps lie— The last, soft sob of the dead! Oh! God in heaven, let loose Thy leaven Of Love in the hearts of men, That forgiving seventy times the seven Our world may have Peace! Amen. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SURFACES AND MASKS; 2 by CLARENCE MAJOR HYBRIDS OF WAR: A MORALITY POEM: 1. VIETNAM by KAREN SWENSON THE DEATH OF LEONIDAS by GEORGE CROLY THE RAZOR-SELLER by JOHN WOLCOTT AT HAWTHORNE'S GRAVE by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES |