All sickened with the reek and stench of war,
And flung a prey to pestilence and want;
—Thy work!
For this?—
—Life’s fair white flower of manhood in the dust;
Ten thousand thousand hearts made desolate;
My troubled world a seething pit of hate;
My helpless ones the victims of thy lust;—
The broken maids lift hopeless eyes to Me,
The little ones lift handless arms to Me,