Four-square against the genial tides of peace He stands, Cock-Robin—wise in self-esteem, Pronouncing his implacable decrees,— Sir Oracle out-oracled—a stream Of mordant and pontifical abuse Descending in hot torrents from his tongue As lava from Vesuvius. "No truce!" He cries, "between the righteous and the wrong, No truce but war incessant,—to the hilt— Between the virtuous and the red-with-guilt!" ... And under every deep portentous breath: "We are the right; their cause is Cain's!" he saith. Behold him on the platform shake his sword,— Our social darling and consummate child; Or death-defying at the banquet-board Sift Truth from Error and with gestures mild Make hating virtuous for the sovereign State, Define the duty of all moral men To praise the war's "morale," and demonstrate That God is with us in the slaughter-pen! O, valiant donor of another's tears,— Thrice-bless'd of our war-gilded patrioteers, Starvation-cordons and Youth's fear-drawn swords Could never be but for your priceless words! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO NATURE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE AMORETTI: 37 by EDMUND SPENSER SPRING IN THE ALPS by MATHILDE BLIND THE FAT LADY SPEAKS by GILBERT KEITH CHESTERTON A LITTLE WHILE by JANICE MEREDITH GOODRICH DOTEN |