Ii

Yet, after Peace has turned the clean white page There shall be sorrow on the earth for years; Abysmal grief, that has no eyes for tears, And youth that hobbles through the earth like age. But better to play this part upon life’s stage Than to aid structures that a tyrant rears, To live a stalwart hireling torn with fears, And shamed by feeding on a conqueror’s wage. Death, yea, a thousand deaths, were sweet in truth Rather than such ignoble life. God gave Being, and breath, and high resolve to youth That it might be Wrong’s master, not its slave. Our road to Freedom is the road to guns! Go, arm your sons! I say, Go, arm your sons!