Out Yonder

Out yonder in the trenches,

     Under the cold, cold stars,

Out where the steel wenches

     The victims of the wars,

Where death patrols the vastness,

     Where graves dot steep and glen,

Where danger guards the fastness,

     God pits the sons of men.

Out yonder on the vacant,

     Where leads no friendly track

Now stirred with war’s commotion,

     Where death stalks grim and black,

Where lurks beneath the waters,

     None knoweth where or when,

The thing that madly slaughters,

     God pity the sons of men.

Out yonder in the city,

     Smitten by long-range gun,

Where all is hopeless pity

     Beneath the tear-dimmed sun,

Out where the war-worn woman

     Waits, fears the postman’s call

With news from the strife nil…

   (missing)                     God pity them.

Feb. 18, 1919