THE SAD YEARS
AN OLD PROVERB (Continued)
Where the red river ran,
Hatred of man to man;
Maddened they rush to kill,
That but their single will;
Strangle or bayonet him!
Trample him life and limb
Into the awful mire;
Break him with knife or fire!
So that we know he lie
Dead to the smiling sky.
And in a thousand years
It will be all the same.
Which of us was to blame?
What will it matter then?
Over the sleeping men
Grass will so softly grow
No one would ever know
Of the dark crimson stain,
Of all the hate and pain
That once had fearful birth
In the black secret earth.
Ah! in a thousand years
Time will forget our tears.
[103]
