Classic Poem

TO AN E NGLISH Pro -B OER

H USH , babbling Pharisee,
Scribe, hypocrite, do we
Love, any more
Than you do, war?

Think you that darkling skies
And helpless orphans' cries
Do never keep
Our hearts from sleep?

Have noTour blinding tears,
In these late anxious years,
Been wrung by pain
For loved ones slain?

Think you those hearts are steel
Who, for the common weal,
Thus lay down all
At duty's call?

You talk, but do not share
The heavy load we bear
Of sundered ties
And sacrifice.

That far-off, lonely grave,
Where sleep the sons we gave,
Looms in our sight
By day and night.

We do not know what more
The future has in store,
What bitterer tears
May come with years,

But with set teeth we stand
To guard our Empire land,
To dare and spend
Unto the end.

So, critic, since for you
Our sons are fighting too,
Your railing cease
And give us — PEACE.