Wild Europe

WILD Europe, red with Woden's dreadful dew,

On fire with Loki's hate, more savage than

Beasts that we shame by likening to man,

Was it toward this the toiling centuries grew?

Was it for this the Reign of Love began

In that young heretic, that gracious Jew,

Whose race His followers flout the ages through?

Is Time at last a mere comedian,

Mocking in cap and bells our pompous boast

Of progress? Nay, we will not bear it so.

A million hands launch ships to succor woe;

The stars that shudder o'er the slaughtering host

Rain blessing on the Red Cross groups that go

Careless of shrapnel, emulous for the post

Where foul diseases wreak their uttermost

Of horror. Saintship walks incognito

As scoffing Science, but Christ knows His, own

Sway as it may, the wargod's fell caprice,

The victories of Love shall still increase

Until at last, from all this wail and moan,

Rises the song of brotherhood to cease

No more, no more, —the song that shall atone

Even for this mad agony. The throne

That war is building is the throne of Peace.