Poem: To The Princes of The Church

To The Princes of The Church

    You prate of love and murmur of goodwill,

    Turn sanctimonious eyes toward your God,

    Write on your walls the text “Thou shalt not kill,”

    Point out the path your “Prince of Peace” once trod,

    While all the time, with murder in your hearts,

    You lie, cajole, and bully that the fools

    Who heed your words may play their foolish parts

    As slaves of Mammon, as the War-Lord’s tools.

    On many a field, in many a river bed,

    Of Flanders and of Poland and of France,

    Your bloody-minded words bear fruit indeed.

    Preachers of Death! the thought of maimed and dead

    Will nerve us when our hosts of Life advance

    To crush for ever your accursed breed.


F. J. Webb

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