Classic Poem

In the place to which I go,
Better men than I have died.
Freeman friend and conscript foe,
Face to face and side by side,
In the shallow grave abide.

Melinite that seared their brains,
Gas that slew them in a snare,
War's inferno of strange pains,
What are these to them who share
That great boon of silence there?

When like blood the moon is red:
And a shadow hides the sun,
We shall wake, the so-long dead,
We shall know our quarrel done, —
Will God tell us who has won?