There Is No Sin So Great As

Lord God Of Hosts, Be With Us Yet, Lest We Forget--lest We Forget!

The Beasts Are Very Wise, Their Mouths Are Clean Of Lies, They Talk One To The Other, Bullock To Bullock Brothers Resting After Their Labors, Each In Stall With His Neighbors, But Man With Goad And Whip, Breaks Up Their Fellowship, Shouts In Their Silky Ears Filling Their Soul With Fears. When He Has Plowed The Land, He Says: "they Understand." But The Beasts In Stall Together, Freed From The Yoke And Tether, Say As The Torn Flank Smoke: "nay, 'twas The Whip That Spoke."

Men, Not Children Or Servants, Tempered And Taught To The End; Cleansed Of Servile Panic, Slow To Dread Or Despise, Humble Because Of Knowledge, Mighty By Sacrifice.

When You're Wounded And Left On Afghanistan's Plains, And The Women Come Out To Cut Up What Remains, Jest Roll To Your Rifle And Blow Out Your Brains And Go To Your Gawd Like A Soldier.

Not Only Do Words Infect, Egotize, Narcotize, And Paralyze, But They Enter Into And Colour The Minutest Cells Of The Brain. . . .