Along the crumbling roads of worn-out creeds
Where Ignorance walks royally through days
That smell of death, decay and bloody deeds.
While we still cry to God for strength to kill,
Reminding Him that Britain rules the waves,
And grind young bones for the commercial mill,
And build munition works among the graves.
Still crying "Honour," "Country" and "The Flag,"
"The last heroic fight in Freedom's name!"
Though Kings make mouths at Kings, and Prelates brag—