Classic Poem

The torrent of the homeless people poured
From the doomed city which had been their home;
Like a tormented sea the tumult roared,
Sad human waves that rolled into the gloom.
Mothers their babes, and sons their fathers bore,
And women found their travail-hour too soon,
And frail and aged fell to rise no more,
And some went crazed beneath the October moon.

Hail, and thrice hail, thou glorious War-Lord!
Take thou the glory of the flaming town,
Man, woman, child, of the despairing horde,
Weave them and wear them for thy laurel crown;
Then go, and cast it, in the eternal morn,
Before His throne who wore the crown of thorn!