The Spike or Victoria College Review 1936
Behold them falling, falling,
Men that I loved:
Smashed skulls, parched throats,
Withered husks of clay ....
Only their shadows remain.
And we, who see, shall tremble
And be sad, but for a moment.
Mothers, weep not for those you fashioned
To glut the circus-halls of pagan gods!
Weep for yourselves! You gave them up
To idols you must worship too.
There is no love in warlike places;
Only one voice rings clear:
Fight, Man, if you must be saved;
Fight and exterminate the foe.
Who cares for war when war is over?
Surely those left, wear mourning to their graves;
Those who come after must not know;
And those who know, must hold the secret fast.
Is there a god of battles?
What ransom does he offer when we're dead?
We perish; forgotten soon,
Our prize the impotence of heaven.
Men that I loved,
They fall in mad confusion
For an end they were not destined:
Greater love hath no man than these
Who lay down their lives for their gods,