Classic Poem

A by-gone age appears again,
Though gone its weapons, spear and shield;
Men's baser passions still the same,
Will the same fatal harvest yield.

Yea, deadlier weapons they contrive,
As aided by Satanic skill;
More wide destruction's bolts to hurl,
And with a surer aim to kill.

The march of armies trampling down
The harvests raised by care and toil,
The works of noblest skill destroyed,
And cities burnt, or given to spoil;

Homes made forever sad and lone,
For children in the battle slain;
These are the scenes of which we read,
A by-gone age appears again!

Ambition grasping wider power,
Involving nations in its plan,
Musters its hosts; appeals to arms;
Regarding neither God nor man.

The pomp and circumstance of war
No more the statesman's thoughts engage;
He views them but as idle shows,
The relics of a barbarous age;

Restored to deck despotic rule,
With semblance of its ancient power;
Its prestige and its name prolong
Beyond the fixed, allotted hour.