THE SONG OF THE WAR FIEND.
Ha! ha! ha! ha! for the feast of blood,
For the carnival of gore,
When men shall fight by day and night,
And slay on sea and shore. “Kill! kill! kill! kill!” is my order shrill,
And the mind of man is mad;
And the angel of Grace doth hide her face,
And the soul of Peace is sad. The powers of hell will aid me well,
As I fiercely rise from sleep;
Riches and skill shall obey my will,
The harvest of Death to reap. The joys that Peace in a hundred years
Have earned, in a day I’ll take;
I’ll gaily scream as the cannons gleam,
And a million hearts shall break. Yet what care I for the widow’s cry,
Or the orphan’s feeble wail,
When the ocean tide with blood is dyed,
And the fire sweeps hill and dale? And little I care for the mother’s prayer,
When her son lies cold and stark;
For deep is the death from the blasting breath
When the war dogs wildly bark. And glassy eyes shall gaze at the skies,
Mute lips to heaven appeal,
And the likeness of God be crushed to the sod,
’Neath the tramp of the war fiend’s heel. Ha! ha! ha! ha! for the feast of blood,
For the carnival of gore,
When men shall fight by day and night,
And slay on sea and shore.