Classic Poem

The gath'ring storm of hell let loose
Is Mussolini's way of death:
But sober men will ask God's truce
Before they lose their fearful breath.
A war to-day will but inflame
A world of thinking, waiting men:
With white and black its just the same,
They, all, shall break from out the pen.
And Communism here and there,
In Europe's land, America, too,
Shall join the blood march everywhere,
And make the world a hell for you.
No horn shall stop the great melee,
When shots have cleared the Roman guns:
The mad shall shout: " O we are free.
And death to all the blasted Huns. "
When changes come, the Fascist brute
Shall see his awful, foolish sin:
The blackshirts play upon the lute,
But vict'ries they shall never win.
So stop them now and save the world,
And let us march with reason on,
The flag of love to be unfurled
Among the tribes of hopeful man.