RELEASED.
WE are drifting back from the End of Hell to the home we long for so,—
Back from the land of fear and hate that jeers at wounded men;
Maimed and crippled are we to-day, but free from curse or blow—
That we knew too well in the land of Cain, the guarded prisoners' den.
We drift away to the homes we left a thousand years ago,
And there we wait in the Truce of God for the hand of Death to fall,
Waiting aside in hovel or hall—where only neighbours know—