We scarce distinguish friend from foe;
But—if the dead can help it most—
The armies of the dead will grow.
The world has all our banners now,
And filched our watchwords for its own.
The world has crowned the "rebel's" brow
And millions crowd his lordly throne.
The masks have altered. Names are names;
They praise the "truth" that is not true.
The "rebel" that the world acclaims