They boast of murder and they reek of shame!...
Thou that hast touched the mystic wounds of God,
And strewn with broken hearts the Virgin's feet,
Feeling beneath the burden and the rod
His justice and Her pity in the street.
Justice and Pity, crying in the wind—
We only hear the guns that never cease,
The flapping of our flags has made us blind!
We may not see the sacred gods of peace.
But thou dost build fanatic temples for them,