It Was Not Well To Drive Men

Do Not Weep, Maiden, For War Is Kind. Because Your Lover Threw Wild Hands Toward The Sky And The Affrighted Steed Ran On Alone, Do Not Weep. War Is Kind. Hoarse, Booming Drums Of The Regiment, Little Souls Who Thirst For Fight, These Men Were Born To Drill And Die. The Unexplained Glory Flies Above Them, Great Is The Battle-god, Great, And His Kingdom -a Field Where A Thousand Corpses Lie. Do Not Weep, Babe, For War Is Kind.

The Word Is Clear Only To The Kind Who On Peak Or Plain, From Dark Northern Ice-fields To The Hot Wet Jungles, Through All Wine And Want, Through Lies And Unfamiliar Truth, Dark Or Light, Are Governed By The Unknown Gods, And Though Each Man Knows The Law, No Man May Give Tongue To It.

The Cold Passed Reluctantly From The Earth, And The Retiring Fogs Revealed An Army Stretched Out On The Hills, Resting. As The Landscape Changed From Brown To Green, The Army Awakened, And Began To Tremble With Eagerness At The Noise Of Rumors.

A Man Feared A Man Feared That He Might Find An Assassin; Another That He Might Find A Victim. One Was More Wise Than The Other.

It Was Surprising That Nature Had Gone Tranquilly On With Her Golden Process In The Midst Of So Much Devilment.