EVER since man was man a Fiend has stood <br />Outside his House of Good,— <br />War, with his terrible toys, that win men's hearts <br />To follow murderous arts. <br />His spurs, death-won, are but of little use, <br />Except as old refuse <br />Of Life; to hang and testify with rust <br />Of deeds, long one with dust. <br />A rotting fungus on a log, a tree, <br />A toiling worm, or bee, <br />Serves God's high purpose here on Earth to build <br />More than War's maimed and killed. <br />The Hebetude of asses, following still <br />Some Emperor's will to kill, <br />Is that of men who give their lives — for what? — <br />The privilege to be shot! <br />Grant men more vision, Lord! to read thy words, <br />That are not guns and swords, <br />But trees and flowers, lovely forms of Earth, <br />And all fair things of worth. <br />So he may rise above the brute and snake, <br />And of his reason make <br />A world befitting, as thou hast designed, <br />His greater soul and mind! <br />So he may rid himself of worm and beast, <br />And sit with Love at feast, <br />And make him worthy to be named thy son, <br />As He, thy Holy One! Amen.<br /><br />Madison Julius Cawein<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/chant-before-battle/
