Unnamed at times, at times unknown, Our graves lie thick beyond the seas; Unnamed, but not of Him unknown;-- He knows!--He sees!
And not one soul has fallen in vain. Here was no useless sacrifice. From this red sowing of white seed New life shall rise.
All that for which they fought lives on, And flourishes triumphantly; Watered with blood and hopeful tears, It could not die.
The world was sinking in a slough Of sloth, and ease, and selfish greed; God surely sent this scourge to mould A nobler creed.
Birth comes with travail; all these woes Are birth-pangs of the days to be. Life's noblest things are ever born In agony.
So--comfort to the stricken heart! Take solace in the thought that he You mourn was called by God to such High dignity.
You that still have your sight, Remember me!-- I risked my life, I lost my eyes, That you might see.
Now in the dark I go, That you have light. Yours, all the joy of day, I have but night.
Yours still, the faces dear, The fields, the sky. For me--ah me!--there's nought But this black misery!
In this unending night, I can but see What once I saw, and fain Would see again. O, midnight of black pain! Come, Comrade Death, Come quick, and set me free, And give me back my eyes again!
Nay then, Christ's vicar, You who bear our pain, Ours be it now to see Your dark days lighted, And your way made plain.
Just see that we get full value Of that for which we have paid. The price has been a heavy one, But the goods are there--and _we've paid-. We've paid in our toil and our woundings; We've paid in the blood we've shed; We've paid in our bitter hardships; We've paid with our many dead.
It's not payment in kind we ask for, Two wrongs don't make much of a right. All we ask is--that, what we have paid for, You secure for us, all right and tight.
The Peace of the World's what we're after; We've all had enough of King Cain, And the Kaiser and all his bully-men, With their World-Power big on the brain.
No!--we fought with a definite object, And it's this--and we want it made plain,-- That it's God, and not any devil, That's to rule in the world again,
And we ourselves? Are our hands clean? Are our souls free from blame For this world-tragedy? Nay then! Like all the rest, We had relaxed our hold on higher things, And satisfied ourselves with smaller. Ease, pleasure, greed of gold,-- Laxed morals even in these,-- We suffered them, as unaware Of their soul-cankerings. We had slipped back along the sloping way, No longer holding First Things First, But throning gods emasculate,-- Idols of our own fashioning, Heads of sham gold and feet of crumbling clay. If we would build anew, and build to stay, We must find God again, And go His way.