Have you seen men come from the Line,

Tottering, doddering, as if bad wine

Had drugged their very souls;

Their garments rent with holes

And caked with mud

And streaked with blood

Of others, or their own ;

Haggard, weary-limbed and chilled to the bone,

Trudging aimless, hopeless, on

With listless eyes and faces drawn

Taut with woe ?

Have you seen them aimless go

Bowed down with muddy pack

And muddy rifle slung on back,

And soaking overcoat,

Staring on with eyes that note

Nothing but the mire

Quenched of every fire ?

Have you seen men when they come

From shell-holes filled with scum

Of mud and blood and flesh,

Where there's nothing fresh

Like grass, or trees, or flowers,

And the numbing year-like hours

Lag on--drag on,

And the hopeless dawn

Brings naught but death, and rain--

The rain a fiend of pain

That scourges without end,

And Death, a smiling friend ?

Have you seen men when they come from hell ?

If not,--ah, well

Speak not with easy eloquence

That seems like sense

Of ' War and its Necessity ' !

And do not rant, I pray,

On ' War's Magnificent Nobility' !

If you've seen men come from the Line

You'll know it's Peace that is divine !

If you've not seen the things I've sung--

Let silence bind your tongue,

But, make all wars to cease,

And work, and work for Everlasting Peace !