"Who is this pacing sisterhood,
Moving in silent, broken mood,
Clad all in mourning weeds?
Are ye the celebrants of martial deeds--
The work of dauntless spirits lifted high
From many a red field where the brave for country die?" No! We are not the celebrants of warlike deeds--
We mourn for World-Peace slain,
Hid in our hearts until she rise again!
We hate your fields of death,
Your brazen Mars that leads
Where men are reaped as grain!
Your "Glory" is to us but venemous breath!
A-near our hearts your "causes" do not lie--
Nor one, nor other, O ye warring States! But we are they who hate your mutual hates;
And we are they whom ye shall ask in vain,
In home's dear covert to remain--
Praying at home--yet serving still your needs,
Yielding to you our sons, our brothers and our mates--
We mourn for World-Peace slain--
We mourn--but oh, not that alone!
A heresy through all our ranks is blown:
The order old is changing--shall not come again;
No more shall tender cowardice retrain,
The "Call of Country" shall betray no more,
To trick our tears in bravery of a smile,
Gazing upon the glittering file
Of those that march away to war (so fain!)--
Of whom what remnant shall their fate restore? We--celebrants of martial deeds?
Trading in precious lives more dear than are our own?
At last, O warring States, the soul-of-woman know--
We will not give our men, to serve your schemes,
Your cozzening plans, and your Imperial dreams!
And if ye seize them, we to slaughter too will go,
And in the breach ourselves will throw;
Upon us, too, the quiver of your hatreds rain!
We mourn the World-Peace slain!