Wild Europe

WILD Europe, red with Woden's dreadful dew, On fire with Loki's hate, more savage than Beasts that we shame by likening to man, Was it toward this the toiling centuries grew? Was it for this the Reign of Love began In that young heretic, that gracious Jew, Whose race His followers flout the ages through? Is Time at last a mere comedian, Mocking in cap and bells our pompous boast Of progress? Nay, we will not bear it so. A million hands launch ships to succor woe; The stars that shudder o'er the slaughtering host Rain blessing on the Red Cross groups that go Careless of shrapnel, emulous for the post Where foul diseases wreak their uttermost Of horror. Saintship walks incognito As scoffing Science, but Christ knows His, own Sway as it may, the wargod's fell caprice, The victories of Love shall still increase Until at last, from all this wail and moan, Rises the song of brotherhood to cease No more, no more, —the song that shall atone Even for this mad agony. The throne That war is building is the throne of Peace.