Disarmament [poem]

Media

Part of The Young Citizen: The Magazine for Young People

Title
Disarmament [poem]
Creator
Whitter, John G.
Language
English
Source
Young Citizen, v.7 no.9 (September 1941
Year
1941
Subject
Poetry (Literary form)
Disarmament
Arms control
Rights
In Copyright - Educational Use Permitted
Fulltext
SEPTEMBER, 1941 THE YOUNG CITIZEN 307 A POEM FOR THiS MONTH DISARMAMENT Bi' JOHN G: WHITTIER The time when Whittier, the American Quaker poet, wrote this appeal for peace was in 1871 1 just seventy yCars ago. France and Germany were the nations at war, and about half a million men had been killed or wou·nded. Can any nation afford to put ·away its weapons, trusting that it will remain unmolested? Nations do not think so today dur· ing- this great Second World War. But the poet thought that that· is the Christian course which should be followed, and that love will conquer hate. OnlJI a corriparatively small number in the ·world today have such faith. grow cold, And round the fire the Mongol shepherds sit With. grave responses listening unto it: Once, on errands of his mercy ·bent, Buddha, the holy and benevolent, Met a fell monster, huge and fierce of look, ,-,PUT up the sword!" The voice of Christ Whose awful voice the hills and forests once more Speaks, in the pauses of the cannon's roar, O'er fields of corn by fiery sickles reaped And left dry ashes; o'er trenches heaped With nameless dead; o'er cities starving slow Under a rain of fire; through wards of woe Down which a groaning diapason runs From tortured brothers, husbands, lovers, sons Of desolate women in their far-off homes, Waiting to hear the step that never comes! i 0 men and brothers, let -that voice be f heard. War fails; try peace; put up the useless sword! ~ -c4 Fear not the end. There is a story told , In Eastern tents, when autumn nights ~ shook. "0 son of peace," the giant cri-ed, "thy fate Is sealed at last, and love shall yield to hate!" The unarmed Buddha, looking, with no trace Of fear or a~ger, in the monster's face, in pity said, "Poor fiend, even thee love!" Lo! as he spake, the sky-tall terror sank To hand-breadth size; the huge abhorrence shrank Into the form.and fashion of a do~e; And where the thunder of its rage was heard, Circling above him, sweetly sang the bird. "Hate hath no harm for love," so ran the song; "And peace unweaponed conquers every .. wrong!"