Classic Poem

They hunger? give them men to slay:
they lack for light and air? then room
is free, yonder, and chance of play
where the hill-scarring cannons boom.

The house is rotting? flags will mask,
and trophies best, where damps intrude:
lift lights and song, and none will ask
(being fools) if this be to their good.

And they who fall will vex us not,
and those who stay shall feed full meal
of glory: while their pride is hot
no need to whistle them to heel.

These be your gods, O Israel!
— And who am I to blame their law? —
Nay, an they will not learn, 'tis well
that fools should chew the husks and straw.