From the Rock Island Argus, October 4, 1913. By Henry Howland.
We dream of peace and we plan for peace,
For peace we pray when we kneel at night,
And not for a day do we ever cease
To watch for a fair excuse to fight;
We agree that war is a thing to dread,
Its cause a crime and its cost a shame,
But we place a wreath on the captain’s head,
And we grant the conqueror deathless fame.
We speak of the useless waste of blood,
Of the bitter woe and the sinful strife,
But we mount our guns by the roaring flood
And devise new schemes for destroying life.
Our envoys linger in foreign lands
Inspiring trust and allaying hate,
But our ships are manned, and with ready hands
We grasp our weapons and watch and wait.
We hear the sighs of the ones who bear
The terrible cost of armament—
Who toil and give but who never share
The glory for which their years are spent;
We shudder when innocent blood is shed,
War is the world’s most ghastly shame;
But we twine a wreath for the captain’s head,
And we grant the conqueror deathless fame.
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