“Why of War, O thou that lovest ratherPeace of roses in a rain-sweet garden,Peace of moonlit silver-heaving waters,All the lovely looks of little children?What strange mandateBids thee sing of War, who lovest these things?“How of War, O faint-heart, thou that grievestOver every gentle creature wounded,All soft eyes of pain and puzzled sorrow,All the lithe limbs marred, the wild wings broken?What black magicMakes thee brood on War, who dreadest these things?“Is it but the haunting of the bugles,Floating memories of the war-time buglesBlowing over those far fields of childhood,Pleasant in the foolish ear of childhood,When the sword-hiltSeemed but made to shine and hold a jewel?”Then the inward Voice that gave the mandate,—Bade me sing of battle,—bade me answer:Well I know the symbol of the sword-hilt,Know the Cross of sacrifice and service;See the heart’s-bloodBurning where the child beheld the jewel.I have hated with the perfect hatredAll the work of Hell in all the ages;Hated all the hate and all the horror;Yet the Vision of the Face of faces,God-in-Manhood,Shines through Hell, and I have seen the Vision.In this rubric, lo, the Past is lettered:Strike the red words out, we strike the glory.Leave the sacred color on the pages,Pages of the Past that teach the Future.On that scriptureYet shall young souls take the oath of service.God end War! but when brute War is ended,Yet there shall be many a noble soldier,Many a noble battle worth the winning,Many a hopeless battle worth the losing.Life is battle,Life is battle, even to the sunset.Soldiers of the Light shall strive forever,In the wards of pain, the ways of labor,In the stony deserts of the city,In the hives where greed has housed the helpless;Patient, valiant,Fighting with the powers of death and darkness.Make us mingle in that heavenly warfare;Call us through the throats of all brave buglesBlown on fields foregone by lips forgotten;Nerve us with the courage of lost comrades,Gird us, lead us,Thou, O Prince of Peace and God of Battles!
“Why of War, O thou that lovest ratherPeace of roses in a rain-sweet garden,Peace of moonlit silver-heaving waters,All the lovely looks of little children?What strange mandateBids thee sing of War, who lovest these things?“How of War, O faint-heart, thou that grievestOver every gentle creature wounded,All soft eyes of pain and puzzled sorrow,All the lithe limbs marred, the wild wings broken?What black magicMakes thee brood on War, who dreadest these things?“Is it but the haunting of the bugles,Floating memories of the war-time buglesBlowing over those far fields of childhood,Pleasant in the foolish ear of childhood,When the sword-hiltSeemed but made to shine and hold a jewel?”Then the inward Voice that gave the mandate,—Bade me sing of battle,—bade me answer:Well I know the symbol of the sword-hilt,Know the Cross of sacrifice and service;See the heart’s-bloodBurning where the child beheld the jewel.I have hated with the perfect hatredAll the work of Hell in all the ages;Hated all the hate and all the horror;Yet the Vision of the Face of faces,God-in-Manhood,Shines through Hell, and I have seen the Vision.In this rubric, lo, the Past is lettered:Strike the red words out, we strike the glory.Leave the sacred color on the pages,Pages of the Past that teach the Future.On that scriptureYet shall young souls take the oath of service.God end War! but when brute War is ended,Yet there shall be many a noble soldier,Many a noble battle worth the winning,Many a hopeless battle worth the losing.Life is battle,Life is battle, even to the sunset.Soldiers of the Light shall strive forever,In the wards of pain, the ways of labor,In the stony deserts of the city,In the hives where greed has housed the helpless;Patient, valiant,Fighting with the powers of death and darkness.Make us mingle in that heavenly warfare;Call us through the throats of all brave buglesBlown on fields foregone by lips forgotten;Nerve us with the courage of lost comrades,Gird us, lead us,Thou, O Prince of Peace and God of Battles!
“Why of War, O thou that lovest ratherPeace of roses in a rain-sweet garden,Peace of moonlit silver-heaving waters,All the lovely looks of little children?What strange mandateBids thee sing of War, who lovest these things?“How of War, O faint-heart, thou that grievestOver every gentle creature wounded,All soft eyes of pain and puzzled sorrow,All the lithe limbs marred, the wild wings broken?What black magicMakes thee brood on War, who dreadest these things?“Is it but the haunting of the bugles,Floating memories of the war-time buglesBlowing over those far fields of childhood,Pleasant in the foolish ear of childhood,When the sword-hiltSeemed but made to shine and hold a jewel?”Then the inward Voice that gave the mandate,—Bade me sing of battle,—bade me answer:Well I know the symbol of the sword-hilt,Know the Cross of sacrifice and service;See the heart’s-bloodBurning where the child beheld the jewel.I have hated with the perfect hatredAll the work of Hell in all the ages;Hated all the hate and all the horror;Yet the Vision of the Face of faces,God-in-Manhood,Shines through Hell, and I have seen the Vision.In this rubric, lo, the Past is lettered:Strike the red words out, we strike the glory.Leave the sacred color on the pages,Pages of the Past that teach the Future.On that scriptureYet shall young souls take the oath of service.God end War! but when brute War is ended,Yet there shall be many a noble soldier,Many a noble battle worth the winning,Many a hopeless battle worth the losing.Life is battle,Life is battle, even to the sunset.Soldiers of the Light shall strive forever,In the wards of pain, the ways of labor,In the stony deserts of the city,In the hives where greed has housed the helpless;Patient, valiant,Fighting with the powers of death and darkness.Make us mingle in that heavenly warfare;Call us through the throats of all brave buglesBlown on fields foregone by lips forgotten;Nerve us with the courage of lost comrades,Gird us, lead us,Thou, O Prince of Peace and God of Battles!
“Why of War, O thou that lovest ratherPeace of roses in a rain-sweet garden,Peace of moonlit silver-heaving waters,All the lovely looks of little children?What strange mandateBids thee sing of War, who lovest these things?
“Why of War, O thou that lovest rather
Peace of roses in a rain-sweet garden,
Peace of moonlit silver-heaving waters,
All the lovely looks of little children?
What strange mandate
Bids thee sing of War, who lovest these things?
“How of War, O faint-heart, thou that grievestOver every gentle creature wounded,All soft eyes of pain and puzzled sorrow,All the lithe limbs marred, the wild wings broken?What black magicMakes thee brood on War, who dreadest these things?
“How of War, O faint-heart, thou that grievest
Over every gentle creature wounded,
All soft eyes of pain and puzzled sorrow,
All the lithe limbs marred, the wild wings broken?
What black magic
Makes thee brood on War, who dreadest these things?
“Is it but the haunting of the bugles,Floating memories of the war-time buglesBlowing over those far fields of childhood,Pleasant in the foolish ear of childhood,When the sword-hiltSeemed but made to shine and hold a jewel?”
“Is it but the haunting of the bugles,
Floating memories of the war-time bugles
Blowing over those far fields of childhood,
Pleasant in the foolish ear of childhood,
When the sword-hilt
Seemed but made to shine and hold a jewel?”
Then the inward Voice that gave the mandate,—Bade me sing of battle,—bade me answer:Well I know the symbol of the sword-hilt,Know the Cross of sacrifice and service;See the heart’s-bloodBurning where the child beheld the jewel.
Then the inward Voice that gave the mandate,—
Bade me sing of battle,—bade me answer:
Well I know the symbol of the sword-hilt,
Know the Cross of sacrifice and service;
See the heart’s-blood
Burning where the child beheld the jewel.
I have hated with the perfect hatredAll the work of Hell in all the ages;Hated all the hate and all the horror;Yet the Vision of the Face of faces,God-in-Manhood,Shines through Hell, and I have seen the Vision.
I have hated with the perfect hatred
All the work of Hell in all the ages;
Hated all the hate and all the horror;
Yet the Vision of the Face of faces,
God-in-Manhood,
Shines through Hell, and I have seen the Vision.
In this rubric, lo, the Past is lettered:Strike the red words out, we strike the glory.Leave the sacred color on the pages,Pages of the Past that teach the Future.On that scriptureYet shall young souls take the oath of service.
In this rubric, lo, the Past is lettered:
Strike the red words out, we strike the glory.
Leave the sacred color on the pages,
Pages of the Past that teach the Future.
On that scripture
Yet shall young souls take the oath of service.
God end War! but when brute War is ended,Yet there shall be many a noble soldier,Many a noble battle worth the winning,Many a hopeless battle worth the losing.Life is battle,Life is battle, even to the sunset.
God end War! but when brute War is ended,
Yet there shall be many a noble soldier,
Many a noble battle worth the winning,
Many a hopeless battle worth the losing.
Life is battle,
Life is battle, even to the sunset.
Soldiers of the Light shall strive forever,In the wards of pain, the ways of labor,In the stony deserts of the city,In the hives where greed has housed the helpless;Patient, valiant,Fighting with the powers of death and darkness.
Soldiers of the Light shall strive forever,
In the wards of pain, the ways of labor,
In the stony deserts of the city,
In the hives where greed has housed the helpless;
Patient, valiant,
Fighting with the powers of death and darkness.
Make us mingle in that heavenly warfare;Call us through the throats of all brave buglesBlown on fields foregone by lips forgotten;Nerve us with the courage of lost comrades,Gird us, lead us,Thou, O Prince of Peace and God of Battles!
Make us mingle in that heavenly warfare;
Call us through the throats of all brave bugles
Blown on fields foregone by lips forgotten;
Nerve us with the courage of lost comrades,
Gird us, lead us,
Thou, O Prince of Peace and God of Battles!