WE WERE MEN OF THE FURROW
We were men of the furrow, men of the hammer and spade;
Men of the plain and the forest, children of commerce and trade;
Men of the day and the distance; men of the mothering earth;
Laying the lines of a nation nurturing fair from the birth.
Taking our freedom for granted, we, who had ever been free;
Speaking the tongue of our fathers, confident, composite, we;
Welcoming all in our borders, laying our wealth at their feet,
Querying not of their motives, holding their honour complete.
Little thought we of the war-cloud, little of drilling and drill;
We were for peace with our neighbours—peace (and a pocket to fill);
Only one neighbour we counted, only one neighbour we knew;
Him—though we watched him—we trusted; trusted, and felt he was true.
Proud of our flag and traditions; proud, but not boastfully so;
Dreaming our dreams and our visions, planning the way we would go;
Saying, "This task for to-morrow; life shall be clay in our hands;
We shall be first of the nations, fattest and fairest of lands".
Then in the quivering heaven gathered the threatening wrath;
We looked—and went on with our labours; heard, and replied with a laugh;
Surely the world was for business; (list to the hammer and spade);
Leave the war-lords to their lusting—on with our traffic and trade!
Then, in a flash, it was on us; blazed, and it dazzled our eyes;
Then for a moment we faltered, suddenly sick with surprise;
Next, by the blood that was in us, and a manhood not wholly undone,
We were stripping the cloth for the khaki and dropping the spade for the gun.
What of the men of the furrow, men of the hammer and spade,
Men without heart for the soldier, loathing his life and his trade?
What? Let the enemy answer; he scoffed at our fighters, and then
The flower of his finest battalions went down to our peace-loving men.
Well may the world read a lesson, well may it learn, and be wise;
Not to the strong is the battle; not to the swift is the prize;
Loud is the boast of the despot, clanking his nation in arms;
But beware of a peace-loving people when they sweep from their forests and farms!
Robert J. C. Stead
From "Kitchener and Other Poems"—By permission of The Musson Book Company, Limited, Toronto