<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="center" class="head">Resurrection</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line"><span class="smallcaps">Not</span> long did we lie on the torn, red field of pain.</p><p class="line">We fell, we lay, we slumbered, we took rest,</p><p class="line">With the wild nerves quiet at last, and the vexed brain</p><p class="line">Cleared of the wingèd nightmares, and the breast</p><p class="line">Freed of the heavy dreams of hearts afar.</p><p class="line">We rose at last under the morning star.</p><p class="line">We rose, and greeted our brothers, and welcomed our foes.</p><p class="line">We rose; like the wheat when the wind is over, we rose.</p><p class="line">With shouts we rose, with gasps and incredulous cries,</p><p class="line">With bursts of singing, and silence, and awestruck eyes,</p><p class="line">With broken laughter, half tears, we rose from the sod,</p><p class="line">With welling tears and with glad lips, whispering, "God."</p><p class="line">Like babes, refreshed from sleep, like children, we rose,</p><p class="line">Brimming with deep content, from our dreamless repose.</p><p class="line">And, "What do you call it?" asked one. "I thought I was dead."</p><p class="line">"You are," cried another. "We're all of us dead and flat."</p><p class="line">"I'm alive as a cricket. There's something wrong with your head."</p><p class="line">They stretched their limbs and argued it out where they sat.</p><p class="line">And over the wide field friend and foe</p><p class="line">Spoke of small things, remembering not old woe</p><p class="line">Of war and hunger, hatred and fierce words.</p><p class="line">They sat and listened to the brooks and birds,</p><p class="line">And watched the starlight perish in pale flame</p><p class="line">Wondering what God would look like when He came.</p></div><p class="byline">Hermann Hagedorn</p></body></html> · Great War