128 H. C. HARWOOD

��FROM THE YOUTH OF ALL NATIONS

Think not, my elders, to rejoice

When from the nations' wreck we rise,

With a new thunder in our voice And a new Hghtning in our eyes.

You called with patriotic sneers, And drums and sentimental songs.

We came from out the vernal years Thus bloodily to right your wrongs.

The sins of many centuries,

Sealed by your indolence and fright.

Have earned us these our agonies : The thunderous appalling night

When from the lurid darkness came The pains of poison and of shell.

The broken heart, the world's ill-fame, The lonely arrogance of hell.

Faintly, as from a game afar.

Your wrangles and your patronage

Come drifting to the work of war Which you have made our heritage.

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