War! Is it still to be war, wild war in the heart of the land?
Are we children of England, busied in tearing our mother's breast?
And is there no ruling counsel, and is there no warning hand
To bring this folly to reason, and still this fury to rest?
War! And the boons of Nature are wasted in stubborn strife,
And women, children, non-combatants, suffer and starve and stand by;
And idle hands are lifted in vain for the means of life;
And why?
Ye will not list to each other, then listen to me and to these,
Whose mute appeal I must voice, and whose pitiful cause I must plead!