Pity us not
Because we tried to battle and to go
Like men upon the beckoning of Death,
Because through all your life you may not know
The pain we suffered with one dying breath.
The gnawing agony, the burning woe.
Pity us not
Because, torn from the might of blasting shell,
Our bodies never find a place of rest,
No stone where those we loved may come to tell
The sorrow that is weighted in their breast.
But pity us
Because the earth is lovely still and fair,
And there is still the spring of which to dream,
Because the stalwart poplars proudly bare
Their beauty to the April moonlight's gleam.
And pity us
Because men desecrate this shrine of God,
Ravage the altar of earth's loveliness,
Sow seeds of bondage in the bitter sod
To reap the grain of torture and distress.
Pity us, too,
Because the world prepares another hell
For sons of ours to rage and suffer through,
For sons of ours to die by gas and shell,
For sons of ours to know the pain we knew.
Pity us
Because a truer and more godlike way
Men will not even seek to know or find,
Nor hail the coming of a kinder day —
O God, that men will be so blind!
Pity us not
Because we tried to battle and to go
Like men upon the beckoning of Death,
Because through all your life you may not know
The pain we suffered with one dying breath.
The gnawing agony, the burning woe.
Pity us not
Because, torn from the might of blasting shell,
Our bodies never find a place of rest,
No stone where those we loved may come to tell
The sorrow that is weighted in their breast.
But pity us
Because the earth is lovely still and fair,
And there is still the spring of which to dream,
Because the stalwart poplars proudly bare
Their beauty to the April moonlight's gleam.
And pity us
Because men desecrate this shrine of God,
Ravage the altar of earth's loveliness,
Sow seeds of bondage in the bitter sod
To reap the grain of torture and distress.
Pity us, too,
Because the world prepares another hell
For sons of ours to rage and suffer through,
For sons of ours to die by gas and shell,
For sons of ours to know the pain we knew.
Pity us
Because a truer and more godlike way
Men will not even seek to know or find,
Nor hail the coming of a kinder day —
O God, that men will be so blind!
Because we tried to battle and to go
Like men upon the beckoning of Death,
Because through all your life you may not know
The pain we suffered with one dying breath.
The gnawing agony, the burning woe.
Pity us not
Because, torn from the might of blasting shell,
Our bodies never find a place of rest,
No stone where those we loved may come to tell
The sorrow that is weighted in their breast.
But pity us
Because the earth is lovely still and fair,
And there is still the spring of which to dream,
Because the stalwart poplars proudly bare
Their beauty to the April moonlight's gleam.
And pity us
Because men desecrate this shrine of God,
Ravage the altar of earth's loveliness,
Sow seeds of bondage in the bitter sod
To reap the grain of torture and distress.
Pity us, too,
Because the world prepares another hell
For sons of ours to rage and suffer through,
For sons of ours to die by gas and shell,
For sons of ours to know the pain we knew.
Pity us
Because a truer and more godlike way
Men will not even seek to know or find,
Nor hail the coming of a kinder day —
O God, that men will be so blind!
Pity us not
Because we tried to battle and to go
Like men upon the beckoning of Death,
Because through all your life you may not know
The pain we suffered with one dying breath.
The gnawing agony, the burning woe.
Pity us not
Because, torn from the might of blasting shell,
Our bodies never find a place of rest,
No stone where those we loved may come to tell
The sorrow that is weighted in their breast.
But pity us
Because the earth is lovely still and fair,
And there is still the spring of which to dream,
Because the stalwart poplars proudly bare
Their beauty to the April moonlight's gleam.
And pity us
Because men desecrate this shrine of God,
Ravage the altar of earth's loveliness,
Sow seeds of bondage in the bitter sod
To reap the grain of torture and distress.
Pity us, too,
Because the world prepares another hell
For sons of ours to rage and suffer through,
For sons of ours to die by gas and shell,
For sons of ours to know the pain we knew.
Pity us
Because a truer and more godlike way
Men will not even seek to know or find,
Nor hail the coming of a kinder day —
O God, that men will be so blind!