Page:Poetry, a magazine of verse, Volume 1 (October 1912-March 1913).djvu/97

Sangar Now leaps one into the press—
 * The Hell 'twixt front and front—

Sangar, bloody and torn of dress
 * (He has borne the brunt).

"Hold!" cries "Peace! God's Peace!
 * "Heed ye what Christus says—"

And the wild battle gave surcease
 * In amaze.

"When will ye cast out hate?
 * "Brothers—my mad, mad brothers—

"Mercy, ere it be too late,
 * "These are sons of your mothers.

"For sake of Him who died on Tree,
 * "Who of all Creatures, loved the Least,"—

"Blasphemer! God of Battles, He!"
 * Cried a priest.

"Peace!" and with his two hands
 * Has broken in twain his glaive.

Weaponless, smiling he stands
 * (Coward or brave?)

"Traitor!" howls one rank, "Think ye
 * "The Hun be our brother?"

And "Fear we to die, craven, think ye?"
 * The other.