These were our children who died for our lands: they were dear in our sight. <br />We have only the memory left of their hometreasured sayings and laughter. <br />The price of our loss shall be paid to our hands, not another's hereafter. <br />Neither the Alien nor Priest shall decide on it. That is our right. <br />But who shall return us the children ? <br />At the hour the Barbarian chose to disclose his pretences, <br />And raged against Man, they engaged, on the breasts that they bared for us, <br />The first felon-stroke of the sword he had longtime prepared for us - <br />Their bodies were all our defence while we wrought our defences. <br /> <br />They bought us anew with their blood, forbearing to blame us, <br />Those hours which we had not made good when the Judgment o'ercame us. <br />They believed us and perished for it. Our statecraft, our learning <br />Delivered them bound to the Pit and alive to the burning <br />Whither they mirthfully hastened as jostling for honour. <br />Not since her birth has our Earth seen such worth loosed upon her! <br /> <br />Nor was their agony brief, or once only imposed on them. <br />The wounded, the war-spent, the sick received no exemption: <br />Being cured they returned and endured and achieved our redemption, <br />Hopeless themselves of relief, till Death, marvelling, closed on them. <br /> <br />That flesh we had nursed from the first in all cleanness was given <br />To corruption unveiled and assailed by the malice of Heaven - <br />By the heart-shaking jests of Decay where it lolled on the wires <br />To be blanched or gay-painted by fumes - to be cindered by fires - <br />To be senselessly tossed and retossed in stale mutilation <br />From crater to crater. For this we shall take expiation. <br /> <br />But who shall return us our children?<br /><br />Rudyard Kipling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-children-9/
