Classic Poem

Song has no place in these high days of pain:
Fate calls for blood, that, splashed from heart to hand,
Is cast abroad to consecrate the land
And from dead stones draw golden ears of grain.
Blood brings the splendor of the sun again,
Lighting our darkness with a flashing brand;
Blood brings the dawn that men may understand;
Blood brings the bread of Freedom to sustain.
Only by blood, outpoured in rage and flame,
Can we destroy the stubble and the tares —
Sweeping away our slavery and shame
Like putrid flotsam that a swift stream bears.
And while that cleansing tide leaps on in flood,
Mere song is silenced in the Song of Blood.