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Robert Laurence Binyon - The Witnesses
Work rating: Low

I
 Lads in the loose blue,
 Crutched, with limping feet,
 With bandaged arm, that roam
 To--day the bustling street,

 You humble us with your gaze,
 Calm, confiding, clear;
 You humble us with a smile
 That says nothing but cheer.

 Our souls are scarred with you!
 Yet, though we suffered all
 You have suffered, all were vain
 To atone, or to recall

 The robbed future, or build
 The maimed body again
 Whole, or ever efface
 What men have done to men.


II
 Each body of straight youth,
 Strong, shapely, and marred,
 Shines as out of a cloud
 Of storm and splintered shard,

 Of chaos, torture, blood,
 Fire, thunder, and stench:
 And the savage shattering noise
 Of churned and shaken trench

 Echoes through myriad hearts
 In the dumb lands behind;--
 Silent wailing, and bitter
 Tears of the world`s mind!

 You stand upon each threshold
 Without complaint.--What pen
 Dares to write half the deeds
 That men have done to men?


III
 Must we be humbled more?
 Peace, whose olive seems
 A tree of hope and heaven,
 Of answered prayers and dreams,

 Peace has her own hid wounds;
 She also grinds and maims.
 And must we bear and share
 Those old continued shames?

 Not only the body`s waste
 But the mind`s captivities--
 Crippled, sore, and starved--
 The ignorant victories

 Of the visionless, who serve
 No cause, and fight no foe!
 Is a cruelty less sure
 Because its ways are slow?

 Now we have eyes to see.
 Shall we not use them then?
 These bright wounds witness
 What men may do to men.
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