Of International Law

Of nations, swearing by the “Prince of Peace” Continuing to fortify with great and greater guns, Mobilizing husbands to defeat husbandry; Bedecking them with gilt without, Stuffing vanity and pompousness within.

But, if you see through the roseate glass, Of swaggering optimism Proclaim, that:— “‘God is working out His will’— Too slow perhaps For challengers of spotted vice; For those who seek for the world’s and the Nation’s failings, inhuman sloth, stubbornness and sin.”

Whatever thy chronicle, Let it not savor of a full stomach’s satisfaction That feels content with ill-got gain derived from tricks of trade.

Live amidst conditions on both sides; Experience the chill and pinch of poverty; Feel the cold steel bands about an undeveloped soul; Want for tools and an opportunity to do some useful chosen work, Then will you write full well, Write strong thy story, Chronicling on golden pages; Infinite views, To march to triumph with the Truth of Truths; ’Twill live on and up and through The distant ages.