108 FRANKLIN H. GIDDINGS
They were too boist'roiis in their wickedness,
Too bloody and uncouth. They weren't well bred.
I heard the last of them
Reigned somewhere on the Baltic Sea,
A sodden HohenzoUern prince,
Descended from that self-drunk one
Who made a War — the only war
That lately I had cared about.
It promised well, but soon went wrong. Ten million men, yea, twice ten million men. Swarmed forth to fight for what they called ideals : From Belgium's mills and mines, from England's
marts. From fairest France and sun-warm Italy, From Serbia and the Russian steppe, to fight For Right ! Oh God ! (old habits rise in me) For Liberty ! They left their little ones, Their wives, their gold ! They flung away their
lives As storms throw pearls of rain. They wearied me ! They were too much like Christ, the crazy one. Who died forgiving all, and took a thief With him to Paradise.
And so there is no Hell ? I'll not say that. The name is out of date, but things sometimes Survive their names, as names so oft live on
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