The Soldier Speaks

If courage thrives on reeking slaughter, And he who kills is lord Of beauty and of loving laughter— Gird on me a sword! If death be dearest comrade proven, If life be coward's mate, If Nazareth of dreams be woven— Give me fighter's fate! * * * * * If God is thrilled by a battle cry, If He can bless the moaning fight, If when the trampling charge goes by God Himself is the leading Knight; If God laughs when the gun thunders, If He yells when the bullet sings— Then my stoic soul but wonders How great God can do such things! * * * * * The white gulls wheeling over the plow, The sun, the reddening trees— We being enemies, I and thou, There is no meaning to these. There is no flight on the wings of Spring, No scent in the Summer rose; The roundelays that the blackbirds sing— There is no meaning in those! * * * * * If you must kill me—why the lark, The hawthorn bud, and the corn? Why do the stars bedew the dark? Why is the blossom born? If I must kill you—why the kiss Which made you? There is no why! If it be true we were born for this— Pitiful Love, Good-bye! * * * * * Not for the God of Battles!— For Honor, Freedom, and Right, And saving of gentle Beauty, We have gone down to fight!