The Butchers at Prayer
Each nation as it draws the sword And flings its standard to the air Petitions piously the Lord— Vexing the void abyss with prayer. O irony too deep for mirth! O posturing apes that rant, and dare This antic attitude! O Earth, With your wild jest of wicked prayer! I dare not laugh . . . a rising swell Of laughter breaks in shrieks somewhere— No doubt they relish it in Hell, This cosmic jest of Earth at prayer!