Christ of the wooden Cross And pierced hands, Whose blood alone Can cleanse the stain of war, Let not the sabre's rattle Wake us from our sleep. Look down on us in this hour And stay the mailed fist That would sweep life's chessmen From this uneven board -- the earth -- Into the lap of death; Let the spark of peace be blown By the breath of women, until it glows Into a flame, sweeping Across the earth; irresistible -- So that war may cease And mothers know That their children Will live out their years. O Christ of the wooden Cross And pierced hands, A kneeling mother's arms Are outstretched to Thee! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NIGHT MOTHS by EDWIN MARKHAM THE SOLDIER GOING TO THE FIELD by WILLIAM DAVENANT VIRTUE [OR, VERTUE] by GEORGE HERBERT EPITAPH ON S.P., A CHILD OF QUEEN ELIZABETH'S CHAPEL by BEN JONSON HYMNS OF THE MARSHES: THE MARSHES OF GLYNN by SIDNEY LANIER KILLED AT THE FORD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW HORATIUS [AT THE BRIDGE], FR. LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY INCIDENT CHARACTERISTIC OF A FAVOURITE DOG by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |