Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE ACCUSING HANDS; A 1918 MEMORIAL DAY THOUGHT, by CHARLES LOUIS HENRY WAGNER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE ACCUSING HANDS; A 1918 MEMORIAL DAY THOUGHT, by                    
First Line: I had a vision of the nearer past
Last Line: The clay that wore the khaki and the blue!
Subject(s): Holidays; Memorial Day; Sacrifices; Soldiers; World War I; Declaration Day; First World War


A 1918 MEMORIAL DAY THOUGHT

I had a vision of the nearer Past,
I saw the marching hosts of Glory come
Timing their step with rhythm of the drum
Muffled for mortal ears. I stood aghast
At numbers dressed in the familiar blue
Sacred and blessed through Freedom's sacrifice,
Each one a measure of an holy price
That paid the debt for Liberty I knew.

And as they marched, instead of brave salute
To me, the watcher by the spirit road,
Their fingers seemed to point in shame, and goad
My shrinking soul. Their voices, too, were mute,
But oh, the eloquence of piercing eyes,
I saw in them THE QUESTION of the Day,
"What are YOU doing in the mighty fray
To save the world and still its anguished cries?"

And when they passed, the hosts of Chosen Dead,
Another line, dull khaki-clad, marched by,
Lifting in pride their colors to the sky,
My Flag, by France's three stripes led,
With Briton's flaming banner close behind,
And intermingled oriflammes of those
Who fight with Right against unrighteous foes,
"O, God, how young," the thought that flashed my mind.

They, too, all pointed with their ghostly hands
At me, and then my visioned picture changed.
I saw distinct, their hallowed mounds, arranged
In countless rows, cross-marked, in foreign lands;
I saw the serried ranks of men arrayed
Defying Death, and braving Hell, for me,
That I, and all my kind, be truly free,—
And then I wept in bitterness, and prayed:

"Lord, what am I, that I should dream and sing
Whilst they, the Living Dead, march to Thy Throne?
Am I a coward, that I watch alone
And nurse my hopes, when stalwart comrades bring
Their greatest sacrifice to Thee for aye,
Their golden lives, their manhood's restless prime,
Their fresh youth dreams, each offering, sublime;
Must I but sit and dream through troubled day?"

God answers prayer, and ere my vision left
There came to me a voice in thunder tone:
"Go, seek the altars that are thine alone,
Then sing thy song to cheer the hearts bereft,
And I, the living God, will lend thy music fire,
Healing for nations when the conflicts cease,
Voicing My Thoughts into Eternal Peace,
Thy song shall fill the troubled heart's desire!"

And hearing thus, I oped my eyes, and saw
The arched Heavens smiling down on me,
And lo! my song rose higher yet, and free!
I sang of Order, Peace and Perfect Law,
And from the garden of my soul I drew
The sweetest flowers of Love to lay on sod
Where sleep the men who found their peace in God;
The clay that wore the khaki and the blue!





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