TWO FUNERALS

Upon a field of shrieking red

A mighty general stormed and fell.

They raised him from the common dead

And all the people mourned him well.

“Swiftly,” they cried, “let honors come,

And Glory with her deathless bays;

For him let every muffled drum

And grieving bugle thrill with praise.

Has he not made the whole world fear

The very lifting of his sword —

Has he not slain his thousands here

To glorify the Law and Lord!

Then make his bed of sacred sod;

To greater deeds no man can win”...

And each amused and ancient god

Began to grin.

Facing a cold and sneering sky,

Cold as the sneering hearts of men,

A man began to prophesy,

To speak of love and faith again.

Boldly he spoke, and bravely dared

The savage jest, the kindlier stone;

The armies mocked at him; he fared

To battle gaily — and alone.

Alone he fought; alone, to move

A world whose wars would never cease —

And all his blows were struck for love,

And all his fighting was for peace...

They tortured him with thorns and rods,

They hanged him on a frowning hill —

And all the old and heartless gods

Are laughing still.