O, for some John the Baptist!
Some prophet Malachi,
To lash our selfish conscience,
And teach us purpose high.
* * * * *
Thank Heaven there's a remnant,
A few not quite enslaved,
For ten just men in Sodom,
The city would have saved.
A CALL TO THE COLORS
November, 1915
Ye strong young men of Huron,
Ye sons of Britons true,
Your fathers fought for freedom,
And now it's up to you;
Your brother's blood is calling,
For you they fought and died,
Brave boys with souls unconquered,
By Huns are crucified.
Ten million Hunnish outlaws,
The Kaiser's tools and slaves,
Have strewn the sea with corpses,
And scarred the earth with graves;
They know no god but mammon;
No law but sword and flame,
They crush the weaker peoples,
With deeds we dare not name.
See Belgium rent and bleeding,
The Kaiser's hellish work,
Armenia vainly pleading
For mercy from the Turk.
The Poles and Serbs are dying
The victims of the Huns,
With anguished voices crying,
"O send us men and guns!"
Think of the Lusitania,
Of martyred Nurse Cavell,
Then say, "Can these be human
Who act like fiends of hell.
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