Are these Thy teachings?—Where is then that pity,
Which bade the weary, suffering come to Thee?—
War takes its toll of life in field and City,
And Thou must see!—O Christianity!
And then the children!—Oh, Thou art another!
Not God! but Fiend, whom God has given release!—
Will prayer avail naught? tears of father, mother?
To give at last the weary world surcease
From butchery? that back again hath brought her
Into that age barbarian that priced
Hate above Love; and, shod with steel and slaughter,
Stamped on the Cross and on the face of Christ.
THE BATTLE
Black clouds hung low and heavy,
Above the sunset glare;
And in the garden dimly
We wandered here and there.
So full of strife, of trouble
The night was dark, afraid,
Like our own love, so merely
For tears and sighings made.
That when it came to parting,
And I must mount and go,
With all my soul I wished it—
That God would lay me low.