Illusions of War by Editor

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Sep 12, 1911

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 38, No. 36.

Illusions of War

By Editor

[This poem, which we clip from the "Sierra Educational News" for August, should have been published last week to give force to our horrible illustration in the Outlook department.]

War I abhor, And yet how sweet The sound along the marching street Of drum and fife! And I forget Wet eyes of widows, and forget Broken old mothers, and the whole Dark butchery without a soul.

Without a soul — save this bright drink Of heady music, sweet as death; And even my peace-abiding feet Go marching with the marching street; For yonder, yonder, goes the fife, And what care I for human life?

The tears fill my astonished eyes, And my full heart is like to break; And yet 'tis all embannered lies, A dream those little drummers make.

O, it is wickedness to clothe Yon hideous grinning thing that stalks Hidden in music, like a queen That in a garden of glory walks Till good men love the thing they loathe!

Art, thou hast many infamies, But not an infamy like this. O, snap the fife, and still the drum, And show the monster as she is! — Richard LeGallienne.