Juggernaut
Yes, Kultur, the German Juggernaut, has passed this way. There is no mistaking the foul track of his chariot-wheels.
Kultur is the German God. But there is a greater God still. He sees it all. Hespeaks,—
“Was it for this I died?——Black clouds of smoke that veil the sight of heaven;Black piles of stones which yesterday were homes;And raw black heaps which once were villages;Fair towns in ashes, spoiled to suage thy spleen;My temples desecrate, My priests out-cast:—Black ruin everywhere, and red,—a landAll swamped with blood, and savaged raw and bare;All sickened with the reek and stench of war,And flung a prey to pestilence and want;—Thy work!For this?——Life’s fair white flower of manhood in the dust;Ten thousand thousand hearts made desolate;My troubled world a seething pit of hate;My helpless ones the victims of thy lust;—The broken maids lift hopeless eyes to Me,The little ones lift handless arms to Me,The tortured women lift white lips to Me,The eyes of murdered white-haired sires and damesStare up at Me.—And the sad anguished eyesOf My dumb beasts in agony.—Thy work!”
“Was it for this I died?——Black clouds of smoke that veil the sight of heaven;Black piles of stones which yesterday were homes;And raw black heaps which once were villages;Fair towns in ashes, spoiled to suage thy spleen;My temples desecrate, My priests out-cast:—Black ruin everywhere, and red,—a landAll swamped with blood, and savaged raw and bare;All sickened with the reek and stench of war,And flung a prey to pestilence and want;—Thy work!For this?——Life’s fair white flower of manhood in the dust;Ten thousand thousand hearts made desolate;My troubled world a seething pit of hate;My helpless ones the victims of thy lust;—The broken maids lift hopeless eyes to Me,The little ones lift handless arms to Me,The tortured women lift white lips to Me,The eyes of murdered white-haired sires and damesStare up at Me.—And the sad anguished eyesOf My dumb beasts in agony.—Thy work!”
“Was it for this I died?——Black clouds of smoke that veil the sight of heaven;Black piles of stones which yesterday were homes;And raw black heaps which once were villages;Fair towns in ashes, spoiled to suage thy spleen;My temples desecrate, My priests out-cast:—Black ruin everywhere, and red,—a landAll swamped with blood, and savaged raw and bare;All sickened with the reek and stench of war,And flung a prey to pestilence and want;—Thy work!
“Was it for this I died?—
—Black clouds of smoke that veil the sight of heaven;
Black piles of stones which yesterday were homes;
And raw black heaps which once were villages;
Fair towns in ashes, spoiled to suage thy spleen;
My temples desecrate, My priests out-cast:—
Black ruin everywhere, and red,—a land
All swamped with blood, and savaged raw and bare;
All sickened with the reek and stench of war,
And flung a prey to pestilence and want;
—Thy work!
For this?——Life’s fair white flower of manhood in the dust;Ten thousand thousand hearts made desolate;My troubled world a seething pit of hate;My helpless ones the victims of thy lust;—The broken maids lift hopeless eyes to Me,The little ones lift handless arms to Me,The tortured women lift white lips to Me,The eyes of murdered white-haired sires and damesStare up at Me.—And the sad anguished eyesOf My dumb beasts in agony.—Thy work!”
For this?—
—Life’s fair white flower of manhood in the dust;
Ten thousand thousand hearts made desolate;
My troubled world a seething pit of hate;
My helpless ones the victims of thy lust;—
The broken maids lift hopeless eyes to Me,
The little ones lift handless arms to Me,
The tortured women lift white lips to Me,
The eyes of murdered white-haired sires and dames
Stare up at Me.—And the sad anguished eyes
Of My dumb beasts in agony.
—Thy work!”
JOHN OXENHAM
KULTUR HAS PASSED HERE
KULTUR HAS PASSED HERE
KULTUR HAS PASSED HERE