War Song

In anguish we uplift

A new unhallowed song:

The race is to the swift;

The battle to the strong.

Of old it was ordained

That we, in packs like curs,

Some thirty million trained

And licensed murderers,

In crime should live and act,

If cunning folk say sooth

Who flay the naked fact

And carve the heart of truth.

The rulers cry aloud,

"We cannot cancel war,

The end and bloody shroud

Of wrongs the worst abhor,

And order's swaddling band:

Know that relentless strife

Remains by sea and land

The holiest law of life.

From fear in every guise,

From sloth, from lust of pelf,

By war's great sacrifice

The world redeems itself.

War is the source, the theme

Of art; the goal, the bent

And brilliant academe

Of noble sentiment;

The augury, the dawn

Of golden times of grace;

The true catholicon,

And blood-bath of the race."