Of love forgotten, men come out to kill
Their brothers in a hateless strife, nor know
The cause wherefor they fight, except that they
Whom they as rulers own, do bid them so.
And thus his heart was heavy on the day
That war burst forth. He felt that men could ill
Afford to travel back along the years
That they had mounted, toiling, stage by stage—
—A year he was to India's plains assigned
Nor heard the spite of rifles, nor the rage
Of guns; yet pondered oft on what the mind
Experiences in war; what are the fears,
And what those joys unknown that men do feel
In stress of fight. He saw how great a test
Of manhood is a stubborn war, which draws
Out all that's worst in men or all that's best:
Their fiercest brutal passions from all laws
Set free, men burn and plunder, rape and steal;
Or all their human strength of love cries out
Against such suffering. And so he came
In time to wish that he might thus be tried,
Partly to know himself, partly from shame
That others with less faith had gladly died,
While he in peace and ease had cast a doubt,
Not on his faith, but on his strength to bear
So great a trial. Soon it was his fate
To test himself; and with the facts of war
So clear before him he could feel no hate,
No passion was aroused by what he saw,
But only pity. And he put all fear
Away from him, terming it the offspring
Of an unruly mind. Like some strong man
Whom pygmies in his sleep have bound with threads
Of twisted cobweb, and he to their plan
Is captive while he sleeps, but quickly shreds
His bonds when he awakes and sees the thing
That they have bound him with. His faith and will
Purged all evil passions from his mind,
And left there one great overmastering love
For all his fellows. War taught him to find
That peace, for which at other times he strove
In vain, and new-found friendship did fulfil
His thoughts with happiness. Such was the soul
That he perfected, ready for the call
Of his dear Master (should it to him come),
Scornful of death's terrors, yet withal
Loath to leave this life, while still was some
Part of the work he dreamed undone, his goal
As yet unreached. There was for such an one
A different work among those given,
Who've crossed the border of eternity
In youthful heedlessness,—as unshriven
Naked souls joined the great fraternity
O' the dead, while yet their life was just begun ...
And so he went from us unto his task,
For all our life is as it were a mask
That lifteth at our death, and death is birth
To higher things than are upon this earth.