Page:The cry for justice - an anthology of the literature of social protest. - (IA cryforjusticea00sinc).pdf/441

Aye, but eagles bleeding, stained with their own heart's blood—
Red, but not for glory—red, with wounds and travail,
Red, the buoyant symbol of the blood of all the world.
So they bore their banners, singing toward the grave-yard,
So they marched and chanted, mingling tears and tributes,
So, with flowers, the dying went to deck the dead.

      Within the churches people heard
        The sound, and much concern was theirs—
      God might not hear the Sacred Word—
        God might not hear their prayers!

      Should such things be allowed these slaves— To vex the Sabbath peace with Song, To come with chants, like marching waves, That proudly swept along.

      Suppose God turned to these—and heard! Suppose He listened unawares— God might forget the Sacred Word, God might forget their prayers!

      And so (the tragic irony)
        The blue-clad Guardians of the Peace
      Were sent to sweep them back—to see
        The ribald Song should cease;

      To scatter those who came and vexed
        God with their troubled cries and cares.
      Quiet—so God might hear the text;
        The sleek and unctuous prayers!