Sunset-but yet no peace shall bid the day farewell;
And what, before the dawn?
Sunset-ablaze with beauty; but list the screaming shell,
And God’s fair lanscape torn.
Night- but still no slumber comes to watchful eyes
For war and hate’s afalme;
Night-and the crash of battle thunders to the skies;
And yet, thy heaven’s the same.
The harvest moon beams peacefully upon the scene
Of mortal suffering
The Milky Way o’erhead shines glittering and keen
Above the conflicts ring;
And grey, grim humans stand to arms and gaping gun
To wrest an earthly crown,
The stars fade swift before the rising sun,
Good Lord, look down, look down!
Morn-and far aloft the lark proclaims the light,
In joyous caroling.
Morn- and sleep-drugged warriors still pursue the fight,
Whilst soaring songbirds .
Day-and as, the soft rays kiss the tortured land,
The ceaseless turmoil flows.
For the stubborn foe is grappling hand to hand,
And blows are met by blows.
Is it Thy will, O Lord, that Thy fair suminer dawn;
And day, and sunset hours
Shall sadly darkened be, so that our babaes unborn
May glory in their sires?
Is it Thy will that man, made in Thy image fair,
Shall shatter and defile?
Is it Thy will that songs of hate shall rend the air?
Or, is it,-Man is vile
Somewhere in France