Classic Poem

I.

I see ten thousand men advance,
With musket, cannon, glave and lance;
They fight until the soil is red,
And half have gone to meet the dead.

*****

While in a village-church, not far away,
I hear the austere, bearded preacher say,
" Poor mortals here below,
Praise God from whom all blessings flow. "

II.

I see a mother hold her child,
A shrunken thing by croup defiled.
She counts its sobs, she counts its sighs,
And in her nerveless arms it dies.

*****

While in the village-church, not far away,
I hear the austere, bearded preacher say,
" Poor mortals here below,
Praise God from whom all blessings flow. "

III.

I see a fertile, sunny town,
Fruitful on mountain slope and down.
Pest passes; and a few remain,
To registrate the cruel bane.

*****

While in the village-church, not far away,
I hear the austere, bearded preacher say,
" Poor mortals here below,
Praise God from whom all blessings flow. "