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| THE HORROR-HAUNTED Belgian plains riven by shot and shell | |
| Are strewn with her undaunted sons who stayed the jaws of hell. | |
| In every sunny vale of France death is the countersign. | |
| The purest blood in Britain’s veins is being poured like wine. | |
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| Far, far across the crimsoned map the impassioned armies sweep. | 5 |
| Destruction flashes down the sky and penetrates the deep. | |
| The Dreadnought knows the silent dread, and seas incarnadine | |
| Attest the carnival of strife, the madman’s battle scene. | |
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| Relentless, savage, hot, and grim the infuriate columns press | |
| Where terror simulates disdain and danger is largess, | 10 |
| Where greedy youth claims death for bride and agony seems bliss. | |
| It is the cause, the cause, my soul! which sanctifies all this. | |
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| Ride, Cossacks, ride! Charge, Turcos, charge! The fateful hour has come. | |
| Let all the guns of Britain roar or be forever dumb. | |
| The Superman has burst his bonds. With Kultur-flag unfurled | 15 |
| And prayer on lip he runs amuck, imperilling the world.” | |
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| The impious creed that might is right in him personified | |
| Bids all creation bend before the insatiate Teuton pride, | |
| Which, nourished on Valhalla dreams of empire unconfined, | |
| Would make the cannon and the sword the despots of mankind. | 20 |
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| Efficient, thorough, strong, and brave—his vision is to kill. | |
| Force is the hearthstone of his might, the pole-star of his will. | |
| His forges glow malevolent: their minions never tire | |
| To deck the goddess of his lust whose twins are blood and fire. | |
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| O world grown sick with butchery and manifold distress! | 25 |
| O broken Belgium robbed of all save grief and ghastliness! | |
| Should Prussian power enslave the world and arrogance prevail, | |
| Let chaos come, let Moloch rule, and Christ give place to Baal. | |
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