Stones from The Quarry | ||
MODERN WARFARE.
O War, accursèd idol, still thy car,Like Ind's foul Juggernaut (idolatry
Less hateful than thine own), rolls crashing by,
'Mid widows', orphans' wails, to blast and mar
God's image; while, 'neath Mars' lurid star,
Glaring, ascendant in th' ensanguined sky,
Earth bleeds, and gentle Ceres made to fly
Drops plough and sickle, while the Sword doth scar
Her fruitful bosom! Science, too, of Peace
The gentle minister, perverted, turns
Upon herself, deviceful to increase
Death's armoury: as natural fire scarce burns,
Hell-fire she invents that scourge to please;
And teaches War, while Peace forgets, unlearns!
Stones from The Quarry | ||