Classic Poem

" What have ye done with my children? "
God cried to the sons of men.
" I gave them birth
To gladden the earth
With the first great dream again.
I sent them forth from my kingdom
As torches to light the world,
And each one carried a message,
In each was my purpose furled. "
And the voice of God was as thunder
That cleaveth the skies in twain,
For up through the stars and under,
Rending the void asunder,
Came the children's cry of pain.
And the sons of earth made answer,
" O, God, Creator of man,
A terrible thing hath fallen,
For War, it hath wrecked thy plan.
When men are fighting for " honor,"
When men are fighting for " right,"
They have no time for the children,
Whose cries come out of the night. "
" What have ye done with my children? "
Cried Life to the world at war.
" What is the sound of wailing
And what is the weeping for?
My children went forth rejoicing,
With laughter and love and mirth;
They came from the hills of Heaven
To people the plains of earth.
Saviours and seers I meant them —
Each had a glorious part;
Spirits of fire
From my desire
To gladden the great world's heart. "
" Thy children, O, Life, are lying
Where the shrill storm shatters past,
They are wasting, starving, dying,
In the wake of the winter blast.
And War has trampled their bodies
And Famine has sucked their breath —
Beauty that God endowers
Scattered like wasted flowers
Over the hills of death. "
" What have ye done with my children? "
Came the sorrowing Saviour's words.
" My helpless, beautiful children,
Tender and sweet as birds.
I sent them forth from my kingdom
Flying on rapturous wing,
And each dear throat
Had a golden note
And a heavenly song to sing.
Helpers of earth, I sent them,
Each on his radiant way;
Doers of deeds and dreamers of dreams
To hasten the world's new day. "
" Thy children, O, Christ, are pleading"
For bread in the pillaged ways;
Their delicate feet are bleeding
Through shivering nights and days;
Their beautiful wings are broken,
The song in their throat is hushed;
They lie, War's terrible token,
In the roads his heel has crushed.
For nations are mad with battle,
They marshal in huge array;
When armies fight
For " God and right"
'Tis the innocent souls must pay. "
" What will ye do with my children? "
Thunders God's voice to-day.
" Will ye let the millions perish,
Or save them while ye may?
If ye heed not the wail of my children,
Nor stop their hunger and pain,
Ye shall answer to me in the future,
Shall pray to me all in vain.
Ye who are wrapped in plenty,
Unless ye give from your store
In bountiful, joyous measure,
I shall answer your prayers no more.
" They have dared dispute my purpose
To foster the people's lust,
Hath brutally torn my torches
And quenched their flame in the dust.
Yet ye who are guiltless ... harken!
I shall scourge you with whips of wrath
Unless ye rescue the children
Who die in the cyclone's path.
For they are thine own, thy kindred,
Thy children, as they are mine,
Blood of thy blood, heart of thy heart,
Linked by a tie divine.
Rouse from thy sleep, O Nations,
Gaze on the ruins and see ...
Inasmuch as ye did this crime to these,
Ye have done it, O, World, to me.
" Lo, from each wasted country
Reaches a piteous hand —
Poland, Armenia, Belgium,
Where mothers weep through the land:
" World, we are willing to perish
If our little ones may live;
For they are the Future's children,
For them, we beseech thee, give!" "