Classic Poem

So be it! Our globe is but a hell
Of torments, crimes and sins abhorred,
Where Force by dint of fire and sword
Subdues his victims all too well. …

A god whom patriots adore,
I scorn thee, for in thee I see
The symbol of barbarity;
Therefore I hate thee, god of war.

As mothers curse thee so curse I—
Mothers whose sons were racked with pain—
Whose mutilated bodies slain
Are heaped in vain beneath the sky.

With pick and hammer let us rise
And break this idol's shape of stone
Breathing forth slaughter from its throne
Hid in the inmost shrine of lies.

Down with the temple that from above
Set up a blood-bespattered rag,
And let us with a world-wide flag
Find freedom in the work of love!