War Song

We thirty million trained

And licensed murderers,

Like zanies rigged, and chained

By drill and scourge and curse

In shackles of despair

We know not how to break —

What do we victims care

For art, what interest take

In things unseen, unheard?

Some diplomat no doubt

Will launch a heedless word,

And lurking war leap out!

We spell-bound armies then,

Huge brutes in dumb distress,

Machines compact of men

Who once had consciences,

Must trample harvests down —

Vineyard, and corn and oil;

Dismantle town by town,

Hamlet and homestead spoil

On each appointed path,

Till lust of havoc light

A blood-red blaze of wrath

In every frenzied sight.