THE BUTCHERS AT PRAYER

EACH nation as it draws the sword

And flings its standard to the air

Petitions piously the Lord —

Vexing the void abyss with prayer.

O irony too deep for mirth!

O posturing apes that rant, and dare

This antic attitude! O Earth,

With your wild jest of wicked prayer!

I dare not laugh... a rising swell

Of laughter breaks in shrieks somewhere —

No doubt they relish it in Hell,

This cosmic jest of Earth at prayer!