Earth has gone up from its Gethsemane, And now on Golgotha is crucified; The spear is twisted in the tortured side; The thorny crown still works its cruelty. Hark! while the victim suffers on the tree, There sound through starry spaces, far and wide, Such words as in the last despair are cried: "My God! my God! Thou hast forsaken me!" But when earth's members from the cross are drawn, And all we love into the grave is gone, This hope shall be a spark within the gloom: That, in the glow of some stupendous dawn, We may go forth to find, where lilies bloom, Two angels bright before an empty tomb. The Fields. [Witter Bynner] Though wisdom underfoot Dies in the bloody fields, Slowly the endless root Gathers again and yields. In fields where hate has hurled Its force, where folly rots, Wisdom shall be unfurled Small as forget-me-nots. In Spite of War. [Angela Morgan] In spite of war, in spite of death, In spite of all man's sufferings, Something within me laughs and sings And I must praise with all my breath. In spite of war, in spite of hate Lilacs are blooming at my gate, Tulips are tripping down the path In spite of war, in spite of wrath. "Courage!" the morning-glory saith; "Rejoice!" the daisy murmureth, And just to live is so divine When pansies lift their eyes to mine. The clouds are romping with the sea, And flashing waves call back to me That naught is real but what is fair, That everywhere and everywhere A glory liveth through despair. Though guns may roar and cannon boom, Roses are born and gardens bloom; My spirit still may light its flame At that same torch whence poppies came. Where morning's altar whitely burns Lilies may lift their silver urns In spite of war, in spite of shame. And in my ear a whispering breath, "Wake from the nightmare! Look and see That life is naught but ecstasy In spite of war, in spite of death!" Wide Haven. [Clement Wood] Tired of man's futile, petty cry, Of lips that lie and flout, I saw the slow sun dim and die And the slim dusk slip out . . . Life held no room for doubt. What though Death claim the ones I prize In War's insane crusade, Last night I saw Orion rise And the great day-star fade, And I am not dismayed. To Any one. [Witter Bynner] Whether the time be slow or fast, Enemies, hand in hand, Must come together at the last And understand. No matter how the die is cast Nor who may seem to win, You know that you must love at last -- Why not begin? Peace. [Agnes Lee] Suddenly bells and flags! Suddenly -- door to door -- Tidings! Can we believe, We, who were used to war? Yet we have dreamed her face, Knowing her light must be, Knowing that she must come. Look -- she comes, it is she! Tattered her raiment floats, Blood is upon her wings. Ah, but her eyes are clear! Ah, but her voice outrings! Soon where the shrapnel fell Petals shall wake and stir. Look -- she is here, she lives! Beauty has died for her.