Classic Poem

I travel to East, I wander to West;
Each land that I see is dear to my breast.
I greet the green hills as I float down the Rhine,
The vineyards of France I love as if mine.
With rapture the castles of England I see,
And Switzerland's peaks are old friends to me;
A freeman of Athens, a tribune of Rome,
All men are my brothers, the world is my home.

Let Sultans and Czars make war if they will,
But let their own blood on the battlefield spill;
For none but the Fool will lift up his arm
To murder the man who has done him no harm.
Let the bigot cry out for a bloody crusade,
To pierce heathen hearts with his sanctified blade;
From mosque of the Nile to Saint Peter's dome
All men are my brothers, the world is my home.

Wherever we meet, on sea or on sod,
We are brethren of Christ, we are children of God.
They may prattle of Codes, or prate of their Creeds—
I care not for these, but for brotherly deeds.
They may boast of their Church, their Clique or their Clan—
I but yearn for the touch of a true fellow-man.
So my heart still repeats, wherever I roam,
All men are my brothers, the world is my home.